


Once Dead, Now Judged

by Eryiss



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Freed Justine, Communication, Dark Freed Justine, Demon Bickslow, Demon Evergreen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Freed centric, God Freed Justine, God Laxus Dreyar, Hurt/Comfort, Karmic Commupance, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morally Ambigous Actions, Optimistic Ending, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Villain Character Death, Violence, fantasy war, seclusion, supportive friends, supportive lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryiss/pseuds/Eryiss
Summary: 'Freed The Dark, God of Death and ruler of the Netherworld. Followed by a reputation as rotten and stinking as the corpses he gave a home; he had been ostracized by gods and angels alike. And as the war between gods edged closer, and those he cared for are dragged into the fight, his seclusion began to twist his mind against him. But as his darkest day approached, he was forced to choose where his morals lie.'-Levy McGarden: A Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods.~~~Freed The Dark has never had the respect of the other Gods. But when war breaks out, his lover Laxus is taken away from him and his friends are forced into the fight, he finds his grasp on who he is slipping, and old resentments are brought forward. In his seclusion, he is forced to find out who he really is and what he's capable of.
Relationships: Freed Justine & The Raijinshuu, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Fairy Tail Reverse Bang 2020





	Once Dead, Now Judged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GimmeADamnMic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GimmeADamnMic/gifts).



> This was written as part of the Fairy Tail Reverse bang, where I wrote a fanfiction based off a beautiful piece of art by the spectacular _[@FairiesHereFairiesThere](https://fairiesherefairiesthere.tumblr.com/) _from tumblr. The art included in this fic is theirs and you can find _[the original post here](https://fairiesherefairiesthere.tumblr.com/post/628404053629665280/hi-hello-a-guess-whos-participating-in)_ , and you should all give them a lot of love for their work. Without them this fic wouldn‘t excist.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for any comments and kudos you leave. Here’s my [Tumblr.](https://eryiss.tumblr.com/)  
> Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.

**Once Dead, Now Judged**

_The God of Death. The God of Judgment._

_His is a story many people believe that they know, one that has been spoken of many times. In the telling and retelling of this story, many aspects of what made it so important have been lost. The Gods have been diluted into a single trait, and their significance in the tale is often misunderstood or disregarded entirely. The story has been condensed into a point where it can be explained in a single statement._

' _The God of Death wanted the war to end, so he ended it.'_

_Of course this is not the truth of the matter. This mindset disregards both the personal and the political motivations which led to these decisions. It disregards the humanity behind the Gods, the fact that they were people and had flaws and loves, all of which led to that famous moment. The moment where corpses walked upon water, where souls were ready to kill souls. Where a disrespected God had the world at his feet, and chose to save it rather than destroy it as it perhaps deserved._

_The moment where Freed Justine, God of both Death and Judgment, shaped the future._

_Artists have often tried to capture the moment in their work. Countless renditions of the battlefield have been painted, each depicting the shadow of the death God looming over the fight to put an end to it. These depictions of the moment, while both beautiful and important, often hide away the humanity behind the story. This moment wasn't the God of Death's. It was Freed Justine's._

_One such painting that recognises this is called the 'Knight of Judgment'._

_._

[ _Knight of Judgement. Artist Unknown. Date Unknown._ ](https://fairiesherefairiesthere.tumblr.com/post/628404053629665280/hi-hello-a-guess-whos-participating-in)

_Though its artist is uncredited, it is clear that they see the story in the same personal light that I do. It shows the moment that shapes our reality, but not from the perspective of the battlefield. From the perspective of the man who made it happen. That is the story that I will be telling you all today._

_The untold story of the man behind the God._

_Of the human behind the revolution._

_Of Freed The Dark, God of Death and ruler of the Netherworld. Followed by a reputation as rotten and stinking as the corpses he gave a home; he had been ostracized by gods and angels alike. And as the war between gods edged closer, and those he cared for are dragged into the fight, his seclusion began to twist his mind against him. But as his darkest day approached, he was forced to choose where his morals lie._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

"Bastards!"

Freed's words echoed throughout the chamber as he stormed through it. Darkness covered almost everything, with light filtering in through the stained-glass windows that circled his throne room. His footsteps reverberated through the room as an accompaniment to his anger, the heels of his boots slamming against the black marble flooring.

On his face sneered a scowl, his fists were clenched at his sides, and he made a sharp gesture towards the large wooden doors before him. They opened with speed, slamming into the walls, and cracking slightly, sending a gust of wind towards the God which lifted his hair and the long black robe that hung behind him.

"Sanctimonious ego driven bastards!" He roared into the nothingness of his castle.

How dare they? How dare they!

He shouldn't have expected anything more. He should have gotten used to his treatment at that fucking table. He should have long since forgone any hope of being treated as an equal before them all, because they didn't see him as such. To them he was nothing but a utility, the person who cleaned up the messed that their ridiculous infighting was responsible for. That was the only reason why he had been called to service, and it was the only reason would ever be called to service, because people were going to die, and they needed him accommodate them.

The Netherworld was nothing but their dumping ground. They saw it as justification for allowing their stupidity to interfere with people. A way out of feeling guilt for the people their fancies killed. They delude themselves into thinking the Netherworld was just another part of life for humans, and refused to listen to anything that would break that illusion.

And Freed: he was nothing to them. He was just the person who kept the gates closed, stopping the corpses and the souls from returning to life with the anger of being wronged by the Gods.

"Bastards!" He yelled for a third time.

With a snarl, he slammed his hand on the wall at his side. The impact created an almost soft cracking sound, and a fissure-like tear ripped apart the wall of the corridor he was walking down. Bricks split apart, and windows shattered into shards on the floor.

The sensation of destruction was cathartic, but only slightly.

A moment later, he heard footsteps behind him, running to catch up with him. It was Evergreen, who he had placed outside of his throne room while he communed with the other Gods. Communication was though the mind, leaving his body essentially empty, so it needed to be guarded. Once, a man had made the mistake of attacking him in that state; now, the attacker endured the sensation of acid being secreted directly into his skin as penance.

Freed always made sure someone was on guard now, predominantly because changing someone's genetic makeup in such a way was a tedious process.

Though at that moment, it sounded delightful.

Everyone seemed to understand that Freed was not a man to target. Though, most people didn't have the opinion of him to do so. So long as you didn't break his trust, he would show a level of decency towards you. Most understood that his decency was a kindness, and they wouldn't risk losing it.

He didn't slow his place, and took a small amount of pleasure from the glass cracking under his feet as he walked. Pushing his arm forward, he slammed another set of doors open, the hinges cracking with the strain of such fast movement. By the time he had reached the threshold and walked into lobby of his castle, Evergreen had caught up to him.

"Freed," She said, and he glanced to his side to see Evergreen had sprouted wings and was hovering slightly to increase her speed. The wings had an odd look to them, and Evergreen had once stated they resembled fairy wings. Freed enjoyed her eccentricities, as odd as they were. It made her more human.

Something the bastards at the 'Table of the Gods' would do good to understand.

"They see us as nothing but a way to distance themselves from responsibility," Freed snapped at her, uncaring for the lack of context. He slowed down a little so Evergreen didn't have to fly to keep up with him, though.

Evergreen was a demon, technically. Freed disliked the term, as there was nothing separating his demons with any other God's angels, other than the fact she lived in the Netherworld rather than in the skies. It was another way that the so-called Higher Gods separated themselves from Freed. They were Gods of the world and they had their angels. He was a God of the Netherworld who had his demons. Ridiculous political bullshit.

She was one of the highest-ranking demons in the Netherworld. Freed had placed her in control of the corpses, or fairies as she called them. Her particular magic allowed her to revitalise the bodies of the dead, as their own genetics failed to do so. Rather than having limbs fall off, she kept them healthy and functional. For those who wanted it, she would change what they looked like slightly to the persons ideal form of beauty. Freed never particularly understood why people cared that much for what they looked like, but it seemed to make his subjects happy so he wouldn't intervene.

Evergreen made up one third of the triad named Raijinshuu. Freed and Bickslow completed it.

"What happened exactly?" Evergreen probed, dropping to the floor and letting her wings flitter away.

"What always happens," Freed growled. "They politely informed me that there would be an influx of dead coming and I'm to accept it without argument nor question. And of course they tried to imbue their politics into the situation, claiming certain dead should be treated better than others."

"Ah," Evergreen said in recognition before echoing Freed's own statement. "What always happens."

She placed a hand on the Gods back in a soft touch. Given his situation, Freed didn't have the chance to get close to people on a human level; an issue faced by all Gods no doubt. But his two top demons were what he considered friends, and he had made a great effort to show that he didn't see himself above them. That couldn't work with all demons, of course, as he needed to keep a level of authority over his land. But the two of them were allowed to see him without any of his facades or defences.

Some of the other Gods who knew this looked down on him for this. But he had spoken to more humans than they knew existed, and each of them had stated the importance of connections with other people. They were more knowledgeable than any God about what made life worth living.

That was why Freed wished to be involved in conversations about dead. He knew humans as more than just a premise. They weren't just hypothetically alive. They had thoughts just as much as any God, they were simply more breakable than them. As the thought struck him, another wave of anger creeped over him.

He leant his back against Evergreen's hand. Physical contact with other people grounded him.

"Come on," Evergreen said, apparently noticing Freed's return to rigid posture. "We thought this might happen."

Eventually, after walking through many of the hallways in his home, he was guided towards one of the many sitting rooms. It was his favourite, given its large fireplace, the fact it was at the back of the castle, and the view overlooking the garden. It was the most secluded place in the building, and therefore the most comfortable for him.

When they walked in, Bickslow was waiting for him. The fire was roaring and crackling, the wooden shutters had been closed to keep the light inside, and a china teapot was steaming out of the funnel with three teacups resting beside it.

It was nice to have connections with people. People did kind things for you.

"There's the big scary God of Death," Bickslow said with a taunt in his voice. "Did someone get angry and demolish a corridor again?"

"Do you really think it's wise to antagonise me, Bickslow?" Freed said, the amusement almost unnoticeably seeping into his tone. "I control this realm entirely; I can force you to eat a human heart and drown on the blood, should the mood take me."

"I prefer a liver, really. Less messy," Bickslow said with a cackle.

Freed smiled a little at that, relaxing into the easy-going environment Bickslow always projected. Making up the final part of Raijinshuu – or the tribe of hell – he was of equal power to Evergreen, and equally important to Freed.

Whereas Evergreen looked after the bodies of the deceased, Bickslow looked after the souls. This was an equally important job, as both the soul and the body made life. Just like an uncared-for body would fall apart and crumble without care, the soul would spiral into darkness and insanity, becoming self-destructive and dying out like a star. Bickslow both used his magic and his personality – so he claimed – to keep the souls both sane and content.

The two demons worked together well. They needed to. Death was the process of splitting up a soul from one's body. For an afterlife to begin, the soul and the body needed to be brought back together. Evergreen and Bickslow were responsible for merging them both when possible.

They were quite affective at their work.

The process was often a tedious one, it must be said. Bodies and souls could appear anywhere in the Netherworld, and could often go unfound for centuries. Sometimes a body would be destroyed to the point where Evergreen couldn't save it, sometimes a soul had gone mad before anyone could even find it. Thankfully, this usually only happened to those who were truly evil, perhaps as some form of karmic punishment, but both Evergreen and Bickslow were still respectful in how they dealt with those cases.

Evergreen had created a forest, fertilised with what remained of the corpses. Bickslow had created a spell where the remnants of souls could be merged together, making an entirely new soul. It had happened thousands of times, and Bickslow had crafted only five souls out of these remnants. They had been assigned to little dolls, which followed the man around constantly.

"Since I knew you'd be all icy," Bickslow continued, picking up a teacup and proffering it to Freed. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Masala tea, nice and hot."

Freed took the cup with a word of thanks. He tried to keep the culture of the living at arm's length for most of the time, but he had once drunk tea and found it rather spectacular, and decided he would allow certain parts of humanity into his own life. He was allowed to have a weakness, and a warm drink was a good one to have.

"What happened then?" Evergreen asked, sitting at one of the red sofas opposite the God. "Specifically."

"There's a war coming, so they think," Freed sighed, placing the teacup down. "Apparently they don't intend to be subtle if it does happen, and humans will be killed in thousands. We have been instructed to make plans to accommodate the dead."

"Instructed huh?" Bickslow said with a small grunt.

"Indeed," Freed nodded. "Apparently the ridiculous feud between Makarov and his idiot son has boiled over. They expect the first casualty within months. And once one person is killed, either man will willingly do anything in return to prove their point."

"And they have to drag the people into it?" Evergreen sighed.

"I doubt that they have to, but they will," Freed mused. "They don't see the people as being alive any more than an ocean, or a mountain. They're just little creatures to them, barely thinking in comparison to a God. Why would the bother with the effort of keeping them alive?"

"They didn't listen to ya when you told them that, huh?" Bickslow asked.

"Ivan's exact words to me were 'Keep your corpse fucker mouth shut,'" Freed shrugged.

"He hasn't gotten any smarter, then, if that's the best insult he could think of," Evergreen muttered, and Freed laughed. It was a clipped, cynical laugh, but better than nothing.

"If he ever ends up down here, I shall need one of your souls to possess that ridiculous suit of armour he insists on wearing," Freed said, looking to Bickslow. "It would be a nice level of irony that the thing he wears to protect him ends up ripping his bowels out and crushes them as he watches. I'd find that pleasant."

"I'll get em trained up ready," Bickslow said with a grin. "But you don't think they can be cooled off. Makarov and Ivan I mean. They've never gotten along, you said, but they've never gone to war."

"Laxus is trying to calm them both down, but I doubt he'll be of any help. He fights with Ivan as much as his grandfather does," Freed lifted the teacup to his lips again, sipping at the spicy liquid and allowing it to warm his cold blood. "And it seems like their millenniums worth of grievances has come to return all at once. Laxus would have to be a saint as well as a God to get them to even consider being diplomatic."

"So we gotta play clean-up because their pissing contest is gonna get violent," Bickslow surmised, and Freed nodded. "And they don't even have the fucking courtesy to talk to you like an equal."

"They consider themselves to be the most important beings in existence. Annoyingly, existence seems to agree," Freed said with a tired expression. "Why would they care about the ants they're crushing? Or the people who try to help them?"

"Should we be expecting Laxus here anytime soon?" Evergreen asked.

"Perhaps, though not in the next few days. Calming them both will be his priority," Freed stood up, placing his tea in its saucer again. "I suppose they're right, though. We need to prepare if half the world is going to be slaughtered."

Bickslow and Evergreen shared a look.

"Tomorrow," Bickslow said firmly. "We start tomorrow."

"There's hardly any reason to prolong-"

"Tomorrow," The demons said in unison, and Evergreen continued talking. "You've not slept in days, if nothing else allow yourself a night's rest."

"A few hours ain't gonna affect anything," Bickslow added. "And we both know that anything you do while pissed off ain't gonna be as good as if you're calm. So take the night off and sleep."

Freed took a moment to think, then sighed and nodded. He returned to the chair like they so clearly wanted and allowed Bickslow to pour him another cup of tea. He brought it to his lips and watched as his friends smiled in contentment of their actions. It was important that he had these people in his life, and he was glad that they were there.

As tedious as they may be.

* * *

_Often disregarded in the story of Freed the Dark is the people close to him. His relationships with both his friends and those he ruled were imperative to his overall decision to enter the war. As leader of the Netherworld, he was shaped more by humanity than any other God, and without this influence it is unclear as to whether or not he would have walked into the fight or not._

_The closeness he held to those not of his blood was anomalous for a God, and was part of the reason as to why he was disrespected and looked down upon by some of his fellow Gods. They saw him as impure, tainted by the lesser beings of the land._

_It is important to state that not every God looked down upon him. He was not the victim of complete ostracization, and certain Gods looked to him as an ally, friend and, in the case of Laxus Dreyar, a lover._

_Laxus was the youngest son of the Higher God's, known colloquially as the Dreyar's. The grandfather and patriarch of the family, Makarov, was known to be God of Expansion and Family. He sat at the head of the God's Table, and was seen by all as the ruler of the Gods. Makarov's son Ivan, the God of Persona, and later the God of Tricksters, showed great levels of jealousy towards his father and tried on many occasions to usurp him, both through manipulations and violence._

_The family of Gods were all-powerful and volatile._

_However, Laxus showed himself to be different. After being manipulated against Makarov, Laxus chose to leave the skies. It is stated that he was unsure where Ivan's manipulations ended, and his own personality began. His exile was so he could become his own man._

_It was during this exile he found himself in the Netherworld, walking through the garden of the castle._

_Meeting the God of death, they quickly found solace in each other's company. Laxus understood better than most the hardships of being a God, particularly one involved in the politics of others. They could relate to each other on a level nobody else could, and what started as a mutual fondness quickly developed into love._

_Their relationship was kept secret from most, with only those closest to the men knowing in the days before the war. Despite the secretive nature of the romance, both men adored each other. It cannot be overstated how important this relationship was in proceeds that ended the war._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

Having loved the man for so long, Freed knew what to look for when Laxus was approaching.

Being the God of both Thunder and Lightning, when Laxus was around there was a certain feeling in the air. The slight presence of static, a partial increase of humidity, and a tiny chill to the air. Freed would compare it to the feeling of standing in a cloud that was just about to bear lightning. Most people either didn't notice the feeling, or saw it as an imposition. Freed rather liked the sensation, it was as if he was being wrapped up in the long fur lined cloak that Laxus wore.

The feeling arrived before the man himself. Laxus' abilities allowed him to become one with the clouds and lightning, and to form a cloud wherever he saw fit. So when he wished to visit Freed, he would summon a cloud into the castle, and bring his consciousness into it, his body following soon after.

In the first few instances of his arrival, the cloud had struck lightning and Laxus had formed out of that. Laxus later revealed it was an unnecessary level of showmanship, and he was showing off.

Freed looked back on that confession with fondness.

When the smoke coming from the fireplace started to pool in the air, followed by the sensation of static, humidity and a chill, Freed knew that his lover would soon be with him. The God placed his wine glass at the table beside him with a soft smile, waiting patiently for the cloud to dissipate and for his lover to be by his side.

"Mr Dreyar," Freed said pleasantly, watching as the cloud burst and left Laxus in its place. "A pleasure to see you again."

Laxus didn't say anything at first, but instead stalked over towards Freed and wrapped his arms around the man tightly. Freed couldn't be sure what had spurred the action on, but hugged his lover back with an equally strong grasp. They stayed like this for a moment, tightly embracing one another as the fire crackled beside them.

"Sorry it took so long to get here," Laxus muttered into Freed's shoulder.

"You needn't be," Freed replied almost automatically. "They're your family, and you have a responsibility to them."

It had been just shy of a week since the meeting of the Gods, and where Freed had yet again been dismissed by the leaders. Laxus had been in attendance at the meeting, of course, and Freed hadn't seen him since he had walked out.

The time since then had been mainly spent preparing the Netherworld for the inevitable influx of dead. His demons had been told to be vigilant for new souls and corpses, as when they would come was unknown. The dead had been told to begin preparing buildings and homes for the newly dead, as Freed would not allow for overpopulation. And everyone had been informed that their ancestors and relatives might die soon, and they would need their families to help them adjust, so to prepare themselves for that. It had all been busywork for Freed, and partly because he wanted to distract himself from his lover's absence.

"I should have come to you sooner," Laxus said, burying his face into the crook of Freed's neck.

"You're here now," Freed whispered. "And that's enough. And anyway, Bickslow and Evergreen have been keeping me sane. As has the work."

"I'll thank 'em later," Laxus mumbled, pressing his lips into Freed's neck in a kiss. "You sure you're okay?"

"I believe I've calmed down," Freed said with a nod.

"Can't believe you stormed out like that," Laxus said, removing himself from Freed's arms. "Don't think either of the bastards ever had someone do anything like that to them before, you should have seen their faces after you left."

"I doubt it'll change anything," Freed shrugged, picking up his wine again.

"You pissed 'em both off, that's something," Laxus said with a hint of a laugh in his voice. "You know when they realise we've been together for centuries, they're gonna think that you're the reason I rebelled against them."

"Finally I'll be credited for something worthwhile," Freed chuckled a little at that.

Freed was unaware of it, but Laxus looked towards him with a hint of sadness in his eyes. He had long since been aware of the disrespect Freed faced from both the Dreyar's and many of the other Gods. He had tried what he could to change that, so far as to defend him both before and after Freed had left the meeting a week prior. But the Gods were stubborn, and set in their prejudices. Laxus just hoped that one day they would change their ways.

"I'm sorry they don't treat you right," Laxus apologised, speaking softly.

"Don't be," Freed instructed, standing up and walking to the window. He was in a study overlooking the Netherworld, and looked out over the dead before him. "I should have gotten over it by now."

"You shouldn't have to," Laxus insisted, standing up.

"Maybe it's for the best," Freed sighed, tapping his fingers against the windowsill. "I'm sure if they paid more attention to me then they'd look upon this world with distain. No doubt they'd have hundreds of issues with how I treat my subjects. With their logic they'd want me to torture the good and kneel before the bad."

"And they'd be wrong," Laxus assured him, wrapping his arms around the man. "You're a good man, Freed, and a damn good God, too."

"There's a certain level of irony in calling me a 'damn' good God," Freed chuckled, turning around in his lover's arms, grinning.

He pressed their lips together, Laxus leaning into the kiss softly. They had not kissed in a month and, even with their seemingly endless lives, that was far too long a time to go without it. Freed adored his Lightning God, the beautiful man who split open the skies with a wave of his hand, and created the most spectacular tapestries of light on the canvas of a cloudy night. He was a poet in actions, even if he refused the claim, and Freed was enamoured with the man and wished to show it with his kiss.

Love was something the humans had taught him. He liked it.

When they pulled apart, they stood in each other's arms with content expressions. Laxus looked spectacular like this, with a soft smile and no falseness on his face. He had once confessed that he truly only felt himself when with Freed. Though the sadness of the statement was not lost on him, Freed was thankful that he and his kingdom could offer the man sanctuary.

"You chose to come here through smoke, rather than your own cloud," Freed eventually spoke, and Laxus looked down on him with a quirk in his eyebrow. "May I assume that was so you could hide how you felt."

Laxus sighed. His ability to control the weather was slightly tethered to his emotions. The more emotional he felt, the stronger the impact of his abilities. If he was emotional, the lighting would be more ferocious, the thunder would echo louder, and the rain would be heavier. It also affected the clouds, and the darker his mood, the darker the clouds. Had he not used the smoke from Freed's fireplace, the cloud he summoned would have been blacker than the nights sky.

"I needed to prioritise you without you worrying," Laxus sighed. "You were upset, I wanted to make you feel better."

"I appreciate that," Freed nodded, bringing his hands up to stroke Laxus' cheeks. "But you need comfort too. So would you like to discuss what's wrong?"

Laxus took a moment, before deflating slightly.

"They're gonna fight, Freed," He whispered, almost not believing his own words. "I couldn't talk 'em down from it. I thought I could; Makarov at least would have listed to reason I thought. But neither of them even looked at me, they didn't care. Gramps said that Ivan would turn the world to darkness if left to his own devices, and Ivan said he should have killed him a millennia ago. There was nothing I could do."

"It wasn't your responsibility to stop them," Freed spoke softly. "Don't you dare start blaming this on yourself."

"They're both getting troops together. And nobody else can stop them because they're scared of 'em, so they're just gonna keep dragging everybody into the fight. I don't even think it's gonna be a fight, it's just gonna be the two of them pissed off and sending people to slaughter."

"It's unfortunate," Freed sighed. "But I'll do good by the dead, if that's any consolation."

"It ain't your job to clean up after them. And it shouldn't be the people's job to fight for them," Laxus argued with a growl. "They should just fucking fight between themselves if they need to. Why do they have to drag people into it?"

Freed didn't have an answer to that, so instead took his lovers hand in his own and held it. The man was shaking, and Freed felt that it wasn't entirely because of anger. He looked at the man's face and his heart almost broke. Laxus was portraying anger, but Freed had looked at enough humans faces to know fear when he saw it. He pressed their foreheads together in a gesture that hopefully calmed the man, before he spoke.

"I won't let them take you if you don't want to fight," He promised softly.

"You can't stop them," Laxus sighed, leaning against Freed. "They'll invade this place and rip apart everything you've done if they want to."

"Perhaps they won't want to."

"He called me a strategic advantage," Laxus sighed. "Ivan, my own father, said having me on his side would be a strategic advantage. I command the sky, so having me fight for them would ensue a victory. And gramps didn't say it, but he knows that it's true. They ain't gonna let me hide away. And I'm not gonna let them bring their fight here because of me."

Freed wanted to argue the point, but couldn't. The fight would take place in the skies. Having someone bring lightning down on any oncoming army would be invaluable. But Laxus didn't need to hear that.

"You can stay with me for as long as you please," Freed promised. "But you're right. You probably will be brought into the fight, so I want you to make me a promise."

"Anything," Laxus nodded.

"Pick the right side," Freed said firmly. "There is cruelty in them both, but we both know who the better leader will be. And so long as you have the choice in who you fight for, you must promise me that you pick the right one."

"I will," Laxus promised, and brought both of Freed's hands to his mouth to kiss, as if sealing the promise.

"How long do you expect we have until the war begins?" Freed asked.

"Months, at most," Laxus sighed. "I don't know when exactly, but everyone seems to know this is gonna be important, and neither side is gonna want to make a mistake early on. So they'll take time to build up their support and make their armies stronger. But they both wanna make the first hit, so they can't be building forever. In a year's time we'll be in deep."

"Perhaps we could do something," Freed offered. "Sabotage them in some way."

"They'll have more defences than we can imagine," Laxus rebutted. "Right now, I just wanna sleep."

"My bed chamber is always open for use for you," Freed assured him, unwrapping himself from his lover's arms. "Take all the time you need."

"Only if you join me," Laxus said, voice firm. "Ever and Bix already told me that you've been working yourself hard, and that you've been delaying sleep when you can get away with it. So if I sleep, then you have to too."

"If you insist," Freed said with a smile. "And I suppose it's appropriate."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, given that we're in the Netherworld, sleeping seems appropriate," He looked to Laxus with a mischievous grin. "Where else is there to rest in peace?"

Laxus barked out a disbelieving laugh. "You've the most fucking morbid sense of humour, it's fucking great."

And, in spite of the situation, both men smiled as they retired to bed.

* * *

_I believe that the 'Knight of Judgment' is a unique painting as it shows what was important to Freed in the days of the war._

_Located in the lower regions of the painting, you can see both Laxus and the Raijinshuu. They are shown to be sitting at a table, which multiple artists and historians agree signifies how they influenced Freed in his actions. In many ways, this is a representation of Freed's own Table of the Gods, with those he held close holding his council._

_The location of them in the painting is also significant. They are placed in his stomach: they are a part of him that he carried with him throughout the darkest days of his life._

_It is a great sorrow that he needed to be secluded from them for the war to end._

_The affect that the war had on the Netherworld was unique. Although the realm was secluded and the battle never neared the doors to the Netherworld, the impact of the fighting was said to have been felt in different ways. An overall atmosphere of unease is said to have filled the land, and there was an obvious influx of the dead. Both humans and angels were being slayed at an alarming rate._

_The horrors of the war were unseen, but not unknown._

_It is said that Freed often found himself at the doors of the Netherworld, contemplating seeing the fray first hand. He stopped himself each time, instead putting his focus on the new wave of deaths that came with each day. At this time, he relied on his friends and lover for support. As often told, this reliance could only last for so long._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

"I'm glad that you're here again," Freed said softly.

The God was lying on his large bed, arm in arm with his lover. Draped in velvet sheets, Freed couldn't help the look of fondness that adorned his features, nor did he care to try. It had been months since he had last had Laxus in his arms, and the loss of his lover's presence was starting to take effect. When he had felt the familiar static, humidity, and chill, he had worn a smile that could almost be described as giddy.

He had needed something to make him happy. The war had brought wave after wave of dead, meaning Freed and his demons were worked to the bone in accommodating them. Every day, hundreds of scared people were brought to his door, traumatised from their murder.

Every day, his anger at the fighting Gods increased.

Freed had worked himself harder than he'd ever needed to. Not only did he go about his usual roles as leader, but he also tried to assist his demons. Sometimes he would search the plains of the Netherworld to find lost souls. Sometimes he would work with The Raijinshuu to merge a body with its owner. Sometimes he would go to the city and build homes for the newly deceased. Ivan and Makarov had already taken their lives away, Freed should do whatever he could to keep them safe in his domain.

He and Laxus had spoken often, but not once in person. Laxus had been doing whatever he could to calm the fighting, even in the smallest of ways. He worked mainly with his grandfather, trying to veer him away from more destructive ways of attack. He had been successful for a while, but Ivan's power was growing and apparently it was getting harder for Laxus to keep Makarov's destructive plans at bay.

The longer the war lasted, the harder it was for Laxus to do anything really.

It was why he had come to Freed's castle. They both knew it.

"Sorry it ain't with better news," Laxus sighed, placing a hand on Freed's cheek with adoration in his eyes. "They're not gonna stop until someone wins. And I think they're just gonna get worse."

"So there's no point in trying to mediate anymore," Freed concluded.

"I think I have to join in first hand," Laxus said in a defeated tone, and Freed stroked his cheek with his knuckle. "I'm not doing anything on the side-lines anymore, they're both too focused on the fight to listen anymore. At least if I join in now, I get to choose which side I'm on rather than being dragged into it against my will."

"And, for full clarity, who's side will you be fighting for?" Freed asked, cautiously.

He was almost certain as to who Laxus would side with, but couldn't be sure. Ivan was a master manipulator and had unfortunately groomed Laxus into being his ideal child before Laxus had left him. It was always a lingering worry of Freed's that Laxus might be manipulated again.

He trusted the man, though. He had to.

"Gramps," Laxus said, nodding slightly to affirm his choice. "The way he's fighting is fucking awful, and he's not acting like he used to. But he's definitely the better of two evils right now. If Ivan wins control, everything he wants is so twisted and cruel. And if we can't get them in a room to talk it out, or stop it some other way, then we have to stop him with force. And, like he said, whatever side has me on it has an advantage. Might as well use it for some good, I guess."

"It's not right that they use you as a weapon," Freed sighed, pressing their foreheads together.

"I'd rather be a weapon for good, than nothing," Laxus mumbled, but there was a level of defeat in his tone.

Freed hated hearing his lover in such a state. His relationship with his father had always been strained, but Laxus had looked up to his grandfather and loved the man dearly. But the way he spoke of Makarov as of late made Freed think he was a shell of his former self. His defence of his values had made him cruel. Makarov preached love and family more than most Gods, and yet he sent people to die to keep these values. He had become a hypocrite of the worst kind, and it seemed to be hurting Laxus more than he would admit.

Placing a hand on Laxus' cheek, Freed looked at him with a soft expression. Laxus closed his eyes and leant into his hand, and it was clear how much strain the man was putting on himself. Freed let his face turn sad for a moment.

"He's not as he used to be, is he?" He eventually asked, speaking about Makarov.

"He's so focused on winning the fight, he's not paying attention to what he's doing," Laxus admitted. "Sometimes, I worry what he'll be like when the war's over."

"You need to make sure he keeps his humanity then," Freed said as he nuzzled further into his lover's grasp. "If you're going to be fighting with him, then you can at least try and keep him sane and kind."

"I'll do what I can, but I might have lost him already."

Before Freed could try to argue the point, Laxus shifted so he was sitting up in the bed. He made a gesture with his hand, and a dark cloud crackled to life in front of them, with lighting shimmering all over it. Freed recognised it as the same spell they had been using to talk when away from each other. It was essentially a looking glass into another location; Laxus was showing him part of the war, something Freed hadn't yet been privy too.

It was abhorrent.

The fighting was taking place over the ocean, and it looked near cataclysmic. Huge waves were sloshing and forming, higher than any wave should be. They crashed into oncoming soldiers with thoughtless ferocity, and Ivan's fighters looked practically ant-like against the attacks from the sea. They were washed away, most probably drowning. Despite knowing what the world would be like if Ivan's troops won, Freed felt something like sympathy for them.

In the centre of the spyglass stood Juvia, Goddess of the Sea, who was clearly controlling the ocean. Her expression was stern and face without regret. Standing either side of her were Natsu, God of Fire, and Lucy, Goddess of the Stars.

Lucy's eyes glowed and she raised a hand into the air. Suddenly the nights sky was plunged into darkness, as if all of the stars had been extinguished within a moment. Even knowing that behind the darkness was a hellish fighting, it was almost a moment of calm. Just the darkness and the sound of the ocean.

And then there was screaming. Fire spread through the enemy forces, illuminating their pain and nothing else. The removal of light had been a distraction that allowed Natsu to climb aboard the ships of the opposing troops. Some of them jumped over the edge of the boats, and found themselves churned up in a whirlpool of Juvia's creation. It was only when he saw the angels battered against the rocks did Freed realise how close they were to the coast.

How close they were to the humans, who had nothing to do with the fight.

It was sickening to watch, made worse by the fact Freed knew the three Gods responsible. Natsu and Lucy were some of the most optimistic people he had met, and had never judged him. And although he didn't know Juvia well, she had always been kind to him. Everything he watched contrasted with what he knew of these people.

"Gramps orchestrated this," Laxus sighed, flicking his wrist, and removing the spyglass.

"Yes," Freed agreed, voice quiet. "I expect it isn't easy to see."

"I told him not to do it," Laxus said with a growl. "I told him that he shouldn't do it near the coast, that people are gonna die because of it. And not just because they get dragged into the whirlpool, but because it's gonna affect the landscape. Juvia can't make water, so she's getting it from the clouds. It won't rain for months so crops are gonna die. And the fish ain't gonna be where they should be, so who fucking knows when they're gonna eat."

"Don't hold yourself accountable for that," Freed said firmly.

"But when I join the fight, it'll be my fucking fault," Laxus exclaimed with equal parts annoyance and exasperation. "But I can't let that stop me, because if I stay out of the fight then I'll either be complacent in it or I'll be dragged into it and forced to do the same crap against my own will. It's just… it's just shit."

Rather than speaking – there was nothing he could say to make it better – Freed kissed his lover slowly. Laxus moved his lips with Freed's, and it was almost in a desperate way. It was awful to see Laxus with such fear in his soul. Freed wished he could do more.

"Even in this war, you are still your own man, Laxus," Freed said softly, pulling apart. "You have your own mind, your own opinions, and your own morality. If you don't want to change, then you don't have to. Hold onto yourself, that's all you can do."

"What if I can't?" Laxus asked weakly.

"You can," Freed assured him. "You have fought against the influences of your family constantly, and you have become the best of them because of it. It will be difficult from time to time, I'm sure, but I know you Laxus. I know you well enough to be sure you will never change your values for anyone, let alone your father and grandfather."

Laxus took a moment to think, and Freed pressed their foreheads together. It was a silent reminder that he was there for him.

"Thanks," Laxus eventually said. "For being here, and for saying all of that."

"I mean it," Freed reaffirmed, stroking Laxus' cheek again. "You have a stubborn side like no other, it's rather an attractive quality for me."

Laxus laughed slightly, appreciating Freed's attempt at lifting the mood slightly. He pressed their lips together in a soft and chaste kiss, wrapping his arm around Freed's waist and pulling their bodies closer to each other. Laxus often felt more comfortable under the protection of Freed's sheets than he did in his own home. Freed's castle felt so far detached from the reality of what was happening, it was like a safe haven for him. The irony wasn't lost on Laxus.

"I'll talk to Gramps about what I can do to help," Laxus eventually said. "While I still can. And like ya said, maybe if I'm fighting on his side then I can try and keep him kind."

"It's probably for the best," Freed agreed, but the worlds felt like acid.

Of course he didn't want Laxus in the fight, but he knew his personal opinion wasn't needed now. If he could have his way, Laxus would happily reside in his castle for the entirety of the war. But that wasn't possible, and Laxus would make a difference. Freed just had to hope that Laxus' inclusion could shorten the length of the war and stop the deaths.

It was an unlikely hope, but all Freed had.

"Can I stay here before I do it," Laxus asked softly, almost weakly. "I need to be with you."

"For as long as you need," Freed promised.

When they fell asleep, they both felt sick with what was to come.

* * *

_Many people begin telling the story of how the war ended long after Laxus had become involved. As Freed and Laxus' relationship is often disregarded and forgotten, many people don't see the significance of Laxus' choice to join the fight and leave the Death God in his realm. Most people just see this as another God being forced to take a side and fight, but it was much more._

_Laxus leaving to fight was a further hit to Freed. The added work and general disrespect from other God's had already taken affect, and to have these Gods take his lover from him, and to hurt his lover in the way they did, was something of a breaking point._

_In retrospect, this is possibly the moment Freed's descent began._

_Of course we can only conclude this with the advantage of history. The story of how Freed the Dark got his title is one often untold, and therefore unexplored. But there is a general consensus that it was due to the seclusion he enforced on himself after those he loved were dragged into the fight. This was the first example of this happening for the God, and is seen as the first real hit the man's sanity took._

_The change was gradual, and often his own tendencies were the most self-destructive. In the ensuing days and weeks, Freed's temperament got worse and his actions became more thoughtless. It is said that this wasn't clear to most at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight those close to him could see the affect his lover's absence had on him._

_To truly explore how Freed became the man who stopped the war, we must explain his descent into solitude. The next step in that process came on the day he sent away the Raijinshuu, and left his castle empty._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

Humans could be quite antagonising, Freed was finding.

He had always done this. As part of being the lord of the Netherworld, he tried his best to make the realm as pleasant for his subjects as he could. Being in complete control of everything meant he had abilities beyond the regular king, and therefore could be a better server to his kingdom. Because of this, he had always allowed his subjects to talk to him, make requests of him in ways that could improve their afterlife.

Today was one such a day. When the dawn had arisen, a queue of the dead had spiralled around the walls of the castle. The majority of them were recently deceased, and Freed knew the moment he laid eyes on them that they didn't want anything of importance, but rather childish requests that Freed had no interest in granting.

He was in a foul mood before he saw the first person. It did not get better.

The requests were ridiculous. Two ex-lovers had their homes in the same street and spent five minutes arguing that the other should be moved to the far end of the city. An adult man had asked for the water in his home to be turned into wine, and claimed it was because of religious beliefs and denying him would be an affront to his faith; it would be an affront to his alcoholism if anything.

And now he was forced to endure an elderly woman ranting at him, claiming her neighbours had been stealing her food provisions and should be punished for it. Her suggestion was that he and his family be starved for a week and to have his food supplies lessened permanently. It was absurd. He was a God, not a mediator for ridiculous arguments. It was tempting to starve her out of spite.

Still, at least he could let his mind wonder and drown out the obsessive whining of the humans for a little while.

With the hordes of the dead coming to his world because of the war, he hadn't had time to relax. Even when he did have a few moments to himself, his mind usually went to Laxus and whatever he might be doing. That was never for good.

It had been months since they had even spoken to one another. After Laxus decided to join the fight, they had spent a few days together before the blonde had returned to the skies to take his grandfather's side and join the battle. After that, they hadn't so much as seen one another. Freed had no idea what his lover was doing, if he was safe, or if he was in danger. The absence of the man he loved was starting to affect him.

In the past, even on the long stretches where they couldn't see each other in person, they could at least talk. But not this time, and Freed missed him. Now he just had idiot humans to distract him.

The amusement was wearing thin.

Because these ridiculous creatures were not treating him like a God. They were not treating him as something to be feared or looked up to. They were treating him as some odd wish granter who is supposed to care about their damn stupid problems!

"May I interrupt you, ma'am," Freed snapped suddenly, hands gripping the side of the throne.

Apparently the woman was the breaking point for him. She stopped, and looked to him almost affronted.

"Because if I'm completely honest with you ma'am, I couldn't give less of a damn about your problems, ma'am. In fact, ma'am, you're such a tedious person that I'm considering granting your neighbour twice the food than he gets now out of spite of you. So, ma'am, I feel as though it's in your best interest to shut your damned mouth right now before my spite becomes something more sour."

The woman looked at him with a gape. Freed glared at her. Did she not understand that he was a God?

"I allow you my council because I wish to make this place good for you all," Freed continued. He stood up from his throne and started to pace. Those in the room all looked towards him. "I make changes to accommodate you all. And this is what you want from me? To act as a ridiculous mediator for all your petty bullshit."

"Petty?" The woman had the arrogance to actually scoff as if offended.

"Quiet!" He yelled, and the glass in the room cracked at the echoing sound. His jaw clenched and he glared at the woman. "I am a God. I am above you, yet nobody seems to understand that. I am not a fucking serviceman; I am your better!"

Freed's tempered flared, and his eyes pulsated with darkness. From the corner of the room, Bickslow winced a little at the rise in anger. He went to speak but Freed interrupted.

"All of you leave," He roared at the congregated humans in his throne room. "Get out. Now!"

"But we've been waiting since sunset last night," One of the men in the line protested, and Freed turned his glare to him.

"Then you'll learn that next time you should get here earlier, won't you," He spat, acid dripping into his tone and he stalked towards the man. He cowered below Freed, and the God would be lying if he said it wasn't satisfying. When he next spoke, his voice was a calm, threatening tone. "If you have any further objections, I would be delighted to hear them. But be warned of the consequences if I disagree with you."

Bickslow opened the door to the throne room and ushered the humans out before anybody could speak further, shutting the door when it was just him and the God. Freed stormed towards his throne and collapsed onto it, eyes still a shadowy purple glow.

Rather than speaking, the demon simply waited for the God to calm down. Freed was typically a calm man, only reserving his anger for when he had met with other Gods, so to see him acting in such a way as a result of speaking with humans was unusual and concerning. Bickslow knew, when Freed's rage had gotten the best of him, that it was best to allow the man to decompress and let his anger dissipate without interrupting him.

The silence lasted a short while, and was only interrupted when the door to the throne room opened. Bickslow let out a held breath when he saw that it was Evergreen, rather than someone who didn't know Freed and might further his anger. She, too, didn't say anything and waited for Freed to calm, giving him a concerned expression; she must have seen the humans retreating.

"Mindless cretins," Freed eventually said, his voice quieter now. "I am a God, for fucks sake. Does nobody understand that?"

"What actually happened?" Evergreen asked, walking towards Freed and speaking softly.

"The same thing that always happens," Freed growled, though it was aimed more at his lap than at the demon. "I attempt to show an ounce of kindness to people and they see it as weakness. I am their God and they disrespect me, treat me like one of their own. Perhaps the idiots at that intolerable table were correct and I should treat my subjects with cruelty. At least then I wouldn't be forced to endure their mindless whining about their ridiculous problems."

"You know you don't mean that," Bickslow sighed, placing a hand on Freed's shoulder. "She was fucking stupid. You know some people are just up their own asses. There're thousands of people who respect you because you ain't some dictator."

"Perhaps," Freed said, though his voice didn't portray confidence.

"He's right Freed," Evergreen encouraged, sitting on the arm of the throne, and smiling at the God. "Remember what you told Laxus before he left. He has to make sure he doesn't change who he is. You have to do the same thing, keep yourself kind."

Freed didn't say anything, and deflated at the sound of his lover's name. Bickslow and Evergreen shared a look at that.

Though the two of them had known Laxus was important to Freed, they hadn't known just how much the God cared for him until recently. Freed's mood had changed slightly, and he was both more forlorn and had a shorter temper. It was clear that Laxus had been some kind of a light in Freed's life, in some sense, and to have him ripped away from him and into a warzone was harming Freed more than he let on.

The influx of work probably wasn't helping either and the God was facing more stress than he probably ever had before. They did their best to keep him happy, of course, but Freed insisted on keeping himself busy and making more work for himself than needed.

"He'll come back eventually," Bickslow said, in a voice almost soft. He patted the man's shoulder gently.

"He hasn't yet," Freed snapped, looking up with a glare.

"We know he hasn't, Freed," Evergreen sighed, placing a hand on his thigh comfortingly. "But you had to know that it'd take a while for anything to give."

"I suppose," Freed let his gaze fall again.

"You just gotta make sure you're still the man he loves when he comes back," Bickslow grinned. "And that's why you've got the two of us, right? So we can keep you on the straight and narrow for your man. That way, when he comes back covered in scars and even hotter than he was before, the two of you can pick up where you left off and start kissing each other. And you won't have to do it with Ivan Fuckface in charge."

"I suppose not," Freed chuckled, and it was only slightly bitter. "I do understand that what he's doing is important. I just miss him."

"Of course you do," Evergreen smiled. "I don't know what it's like, but the way you smile at him shows how much you care. But you just need to be patient."

Freed agreed with the statement, but didn't say anything. Selfishly he would have rather Laxus not go to the war. He would have offered the man safe haven in his castle and fought off the forces who tried to take him, and he would do so with both tooth and claw. But his demons were right; Laxus needed to fight for the more moral side and Freed couldn't stop him. If Freed were any other God, he too would probably be fighting on Makarov's side at that moment. But he had to look after his people, and doing that meant he had to allow his lover some trust.

"Thank you for putting up with me," Freed eventually spoke again. "I understand that it might get annoying listening to me complain about not being treated well, I'm sorry."

"We agree with you, idiot," Bickslow laughed. "The Gods are dicks to you and some of the new guys down here don't know a good thing when they see it, and they complain about it. You're allowed to rant at us whenever you want."

"Whenever we meet another God's angel and they talk about how they're treated, we realise just how good we get it with you," Evergreen laughed. "And that's quite a claim, because you can be quite annoying when you want to be."

"Oh," Freed raised an eyebrow. He knew Evergreen was baiting him to another, more cheerful topic, and he allowed it to happen. "Give me an example."

"I know," Bickslow grinned, voice loud again to lift the mood. The demons were doing what they always did to get Freed out of a bad mood, wait until he was willing to talk and then be optimistic and loud. "When you saw her looking at the Strauss brother with moony eyes so got him to work in the castle and then you made the climate warmer, so he'd take his shirt off to make Ever implode."

"Yes," Ever muttered. "That was annoying."

Freed chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed, and jaw unclenched. He relaxed in his throne and glanced to the window that had shattered at his shout. He waved a hand towards it and it slowly started to melt back into place.

Just like Laxus' magic was connected to the weather; Freed's was connected to the structure of the Netherworld. He managed to keep his destructive tendencies to the castle, and when he was calm he would fix anything he had broken in his anger. He didn't miss the shared smile of his demons when the window was fixed. They clearly knew that, to an extent, his mental wellbeing was reflected by the structure of his home. Laxus had storm clouds, Freed had crumbling stone.

"The two of you are far too good for me," Freed claimed, cricking his neck.

"You're only saying that because you haven't seen how obedient some of the other angels are," Bickslow chuckled.

Obedience was much less appealing than having friends. Freed wasn't going to say that, though.

"You're fine as you are," Freed assured them.

"That's good. I doubt we'll change anytime soon," Evergreen chuckled, smiling. "But, you do know that if there's anything we can do for you, you just have to ask. We know that this isn't easy for you."

Freed thought for a moment. There was, of course, one thing that he wanted to ask of his demons, but he couldn't. It was a purely selfish request and could endanger their wellbeing. He dismissed the thought almost as it came to him, but apparently his demons had seen the momentary flicker of an idea strike him. They looked at him expectantly, and that didn't stop when he made a passive motion with his hand.

"You needn't do this if you don't want to," Freed began. "In fact it's probably better if you don't. It's a fanciful idea at best."

"Tell us," Evergreen requested.

"Laxus. I need to know that he's alive, and safe," Freed admitted, weakly. "It's killing me not knowing what's happening with him."

"You want us to find him and make sure he ain't injured?" Bickslow concluded, raising an eyebrow towards Freed.

The God nodded, though had no expectations that his demons would indulge his ideas. Bickslow and Evergreen looked to one another and seemed to have a silent conversation between themselves; Freed had often wondered if his demons could actually speak without their voice and they just hadn't told him. After a few seconds of silent communication, they looked back to Freed with a concerning amount of determination in their expressions.

"Will you be okay without us?" Evergreen asked, and her voice was serious.

"You're considering it?" Freed asked. They both nodded, and Freed felt a mixture of sickness and relief. "I-I can merge souls on my own. That's most of your responsibilities as of late."

"We meant if you could look after yourself while we're gone, Freed," Bickslow sighed.

"If I can look after a realm of millions, I can look after myself," Freed spoke with offence shaping his tone. He knew of their reason for asking though.

"We'll leave in the morning," Bickslow stated, and Evergreen nodded.

Freed looked at his demons with shock. He knew they had respect and fondness for him, but hadn't expected this. He was asking his friends to walk into the most vicious battlefield in history, and all because he couldn't bear to not know what was happening with his lover. It was an almost pathetic request and yet they were happy to risk their lives for it.

"Thank you," He whispered, bowing his head to them.

They both smiled, and it made Freed's stomach ache. He loved them both, and they were too good to him, despite their protests. Anyone willing to walk through hell for him was worth more than Freed could give them.

And tomorrow, they would be gone…

He would be alone in his castle.

And he would have to deal with that.

* * *

_It is unclear as to how long Freed expected his demons to be gone from The Netherworld, looking for his lover. Many of the records claim it was only meant to be days, but that is heavily contested and criticised. But no matter what the expectations, the time taken to gather any information on Laxus' state was long enough to have a great effect on Freed._

_Again, this is something reflected in the 'Knight of Judgement' art piece. The flowers located in both the death Gods eye and heart are reflective of his emotional state._

_Art historians claim that the flower located in Freed's eye is reflective of the beauty he saw in the world, and the people. The encroaching purple effect is a show of how, without those he loved to influence his actions, that optimism and beauty he saw in existence was slowly being taken away in his solitude._

_The flower in his chest is said to be orange and red as his heart is stained with blood. It acts as a mirror for the more violent side of the man after his loved ones left, something that gets more and more prominent as his seclusion continues._

_This can be seen in his interaction with the angel known as Jackal._

_Jackal is known to be a cursed angel, a criminal of the war and part of Ivan's Tartaros Nine. He is responsible for some of the most brutal deaths during the war, many of which were humans who he saw collateral damage. He is said to be one of the most sadistically cruel of the angels on Ivan's side, and has often been shown as the man who encouraged Ivan into his most aggressive and twisted attacks._

_The death of the angel was seen as a large victory for Makarov's side, and the strike of lightning that sank his ship and led to his drowning is sometimes accredited for a shift in the war. Many people think Jackal's story ends there, but this is untrue._

_Jackal's story truly ends in the afterlife, with Freed. And for those with a sensitive disposition, I advise caution into reading the details of this meeting._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

At the back left of Freed's castle was a tower.

Inside the tower was a room that often went unused. A torture chamber of sorts.

Often, those who might have justifiably occupied such a room were never given an afterlife. Luck seemed determined to spawn their souls and bodies in places where they couldn't be found, meaning the truly cruel people usually had their bodies composted and their souls fizzled by insanity before they could even near an afterlife. Fate must determine that death being permanent a larger punishment than anything Freed could have done to them.

That apparently wasn't seen as true with a certain person. Both the body and the soul of Jackal had formed at the foot of Freed's door. It was practically an offering, and Freed understood what he had to do.

An angel's death was similar to a human's, in the Netherworld. Although they were considerably rarer, the process was the same. Death ripped apart the soul and the body, and if they were brought back then they would be indistinguishable from humans. Other than the demons and Freed himself, nobody in the underworld was different from the other. That meant, whereas previously an angel would have a higher tolerance for pain, they were now as breakable and damageable than any human would be.

This was convenient, given what Freed was going to do.

He knew who Jackal was. The murderer of countless, the angel who bathed in the ashes of his victims, the Demigod of destruction. The titles he gained were overly dramatic, but were not exaggerated. Jackal was a murderer, and even the presence of his soul and body had seemingly sent a shiver down the Netherworld.

And he had been given straight to Freed. As a gift almost. The idea that the leader of the Netherworld would punish sinners was something greatly exaggerated, but Freed felt he could conform to the stereotype for now. It might be rather therapeutic.

Fun, even.

A welcome distraction too. After sending his closest demons into the warzone, he had been alone in the castle. The only interactions he'd had were with the people whose souls and bodies he had merged together, and he had dismissed them without a word. Being alone in his castle was something he hadn't experiences in millennia's, and he wasn't dealing with the situation. He was allowing his anger to permeate, with nobody to use as an outlet.

But now he had someone. His anger at how cruel the war had become, and how it affected those he loved, could now be directed at someone who has responsible for it.

Maybe that was why Jackal had been delivered to him where no cruel man had been before. Freed was now a fate worse than death.

The doors to the tower creaked and groaned as they slowly opened, and the light flittering into the room from behind Freed illuminated the dusty chamber dimly. Cobwebs cluttered the room, the stonework lacked the usual polish of the rest of the castle, and the only things that had any level of care attributed to them were the shackles, manacles and chains that were keeping the man contained.

Jackal couldn't move. Metal bands wrapped around his wrists, ankles, biceps, thighs, stomach, neck, and chest. A large metal plate blocked his mouth and, although it couldn't be seen, Freed knew that there was a rusted shaft of metal holding down the man's tongue and resting in his throat.

Freed looked at the man with no sympathy. He knew what he had done.

"Typically, the devil is meant to confront a person with their sins in a situation like this," Freed began, and Jackal looked at him. His expression was hidden by his bounds. "But I expect you lack the morality to feel guilt."

Jackal made a choking, raspy sound. He was laughing.

Freed's didn't show any reaction other than a slight tensing of his posture. He had heard stories about how Jackal worked. His sadistic nature was prevalent in everything he did, and one way he entertained himself was by toying with people. Many of the dead had been forced to beg for mercy by the man, only to have him kill them a moment later. It would be in keeping with his reputation for him to try and antagonise Freed, and he wasn't going to give the man the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

"No," Freed continued. "You much prefer the hands-on approach, I expect."

Clenching his fist, he slammed it forward in a sharp punch to the man's gut. It was a simple enough movement, but the God's strength mixed with the angel's newfound vulnerability forced out a small choking sound. Jackal quickly manipulated it into another throaty laugh, but the pain the action had caused was obvious. Freed looked at him with almost curiosity.

He punched the man three more times, in quick succession, hitting the same part of his stomach each time. His only partially restored body bruised easier than a living person would, and a purple mound spread from where Freed had punched. Jackal was still laughing.

The reaction was interesting to Freed. That was perhaps not what Jackal wanted from it.

"I'm curious to see what your intention is, with the laughter," Freed said, stepping back and looking at the man plainly. "Because even if you succeed in antagonising me, I won't let you out. You'll be here for as long as I want, and I'll hurt you in whatever way I see fit no matter how much you laugh, or how angry you make me."

He just kept laughing.

"Furthermore, if this is some form of manipulation to make me do something I might regret, then I must inform you that my mortality is not as rigid and clear cut as you might think. And with a man such as yourself, regret is unlikely to take effect."

He was still laughing.

And Freed didn't find himself annoyed by it, for the moment. He knew what a manipulator looked like; he had met Ivan after all. All men like that were clearly after a certain reaction and the worst outcome for them was to be denied it. So Freed turned to the side, looked at the large wheel that was attached to the chains containing Jackal, and began to turn it. The shackles tightened around the man, the chains started to stretch him, and the skin bruised beneath the metal.

"I expect you thought yourself above death, so you probably didn't bother to learn the rules of the Netherworld," Freed continued, removing his hands from the crank and looking back to his capture, who was wincing with his eyes. "Your body won't heal, at all. We have people with the ability to heal it, but they work for me, and they will not help you. So anything I do to you, will be a permanent fixture."

Freed absently ran a sharp nail down the man's leg. It split open as if cut by a knife, and Freed noticed the slight widening of the man's eyes.

Good.

"Of course I might heal you eventually. The definition of your muscles, and the lack of any blemishes, shows you keep pride in what you look like," Freed mused aloud, looking him up and down as one might assess their prey. "Ruining it multiple times in multiple ways might be interesting."

Jackal didn't react to that, but Freed had a feeling he would have a comment if he could speak. He thought only for a moment before placing his hand on the large metal gag, pulling it forward and taking the man's head with it. The leather straps flicked open at the pressure, and Freed pulled the rusted iron out of his prisoners' mouth. He didn't miss the raspy cough that Jackal allowed, nor did he miss his dried lips.

He was more affected than he was letting on. Freed almost felt some sympathy.

But he knew what this man had done. The purposeful attacks on the shorelines just to kill humans and hurt them. The joyous laughter he had projected as the skies lit up with death and anguish. The disregard for anything other than his own twisted amusement. This man had lost his chance at sympathy more times than it was possible to count.

"So you're the corpse fucker Ivan's always talkin' about," Jackal rasped.

"He's yet to come up with a more creative insult, it seems," Freed brushed the comment off. "A pity."

Before Jackal could say anything again, he grabbed the man by his neck and lifted him up. The chains fought against it, and strained their grip on Jackal. Freed's claw like nails dug into the man's neck and a slight trail of blood slithered down one of Freed's fingers. Now without the obtrusive gag, Freed could see more how the man was shaking and gritting his teeth to stop some kind of exhalation of pain. Freed's grasp tightened just a little.

"I'm conflicted on how to treat you, Jackal," Freed stated, forcing eye contact with the bound man. "Given this is a form of punishment, it seems only right there to be some kind of irony involved. Perhaps for everyone you've made cry, I should make you cry. For everyone you've left to burn, I burn you. Perhaps I could invite your victims here, use you as a form of entertainment for them. Have them flog you and laugh as you weep, which you will. Although, selfishly, it might be more fun if I were to make you my personal… plaything."

Jackal laughed hoarsely. "Heard that you were a pacifist. This is a surprise."

"Who told you that," Freed chuckled, pushing his claws further into the man's neck. Something _popped_ under the pressure; he didn't know what, but there was more blood now.

"Everyone," Jackal said, and he gargled. Blood was coming from his mouth. "They say you got corrupted by those fucking half-life's you let in here and those little bitch demons. Say that they made ya weak."

"Perhaps they did," Freed mused. "But do you know what else they did?" He leant close to Jackal, grinning. "They left me. And now it's just you and me."

Freed pushed the man forward, as if throwing him to the side, but the chains kept him where he was. Blood slid out of some of the wounds Freed gave him, but he was still laughing weakly. Freed looked at him with intrigue, but didn't say anything. He let the man laugh for a little while before he tired himself out, then he spoke again.

"You see, I've had a lot of time to think as of late," Freed mused, looking at the man as the amusement was settled. "And I've decided, the war doesn't make me sad. It doesn't make me feel bad. It makes me feel angry. Because an imbecilic man and his equally idiotic father decided to take out their anger on the world. Just to destroy it. Not because they need to fight, nor because anything needs to change. Because they're ridiculous little people with so much arrogance that they think they're problems are the world's problems.

"And then there's people like you. The enablers. The puppet masters, perhaps. The people whispering in their ears, telling them they need to act larger. Get angrier and more destructive. To go bigger and stronger because that's what power demands and that's what happens in wars. And all just to feed your evil wank fantasies. You saw an opportunity and you took it, and expected no consequences."

Freed slammed his fist forward and punched the man in his gut again, and Jackal visibly deflated at the action, coughing up blood. The bruise on the man's stomach got larger, and Jackal's laughter was weaker this time.

"Interesting," Jackal commented, voice gravely and quiet now.

"Speak up," Freed demanded with a sharp tone.

"I said it's interesting. Which of the Dreyar's you chose to mention," Jackal cackled, looking up at Freed with a manic grin. Freed's posture tightened at the statement. "You talk about Ivan and the decrepit bastard. But not little Laxus."

"The point being?" Freed demanded, the sound of Laxus' name on the angel's tongue sounding wrong. Evil.

"We all fucking know about what the two of you fuckers do when he's down here," Jackal laughed manically, and Freed tensed. "And daddy Ivan isn't happy. And when he wins he's gonna come down here and get ya. And I've heard what he's gonna do to ya. And you're not gonna like it. And he's gonna make little Laxus watch as he rips open his demonic little secret."

"Don't assume you have the right to say his name."

"What are ya gonna do to stop me," Jackal giggled, allowing himself to go limp in the chains. "Lock me up. Torture me. It ain't working yet. And that'd be ironic – since ya like irony – that you'd be hurting me because little Laxus is away. Because that's why you're acting like this, and not just letting me die. Because you miss him. Ain't that just fucking sweet."

"Don't say his name."

"Or maybe you just miss him shoving his dick in your ass," Jackal cackled again, eyes wide and unhinged as he looked at his torturer. "You'll might have to get used to it. Because if Ivan has his way, there won't be much left of your fuck toy when the war is done."

Freed paused at that, then his gaze sharpened.

"What do you mean?" He asked, voice cutting. "What does he intend to do."

"Oh, I don't think I want to tell you yet," Jackal laughed. "I just heard that Ivan needs a nice little powerhouse for the rest of the fight and has his eyes on little Laxus. But once he's won, he doesn't need him anymore. And he had a lot of plans for traitors, and your Lightning God is the most traitorous little fucker of all. I won't tell you all of what he'll go through. But I think that it will be spectacular, I just wished I could see it."

There was a moment of silence. Then Freed saw red.

Everything that had happened since the war began flashed into his mind. The endless slaughter of innocent people. The forced involvement of his lover. The decisions made to force his friends into the fray. The slow but persistent chipping away at his kindness. The cruelty shown by all who were involved. Everything was twisted and wrong.

And here, before him, was Jackal. An orchestrator of this hellish existence. A manipulator and abuser.

Someone who deserved agony.

He slammed his hand forward again, eyes glowing. Darkness swirled up his arm and manipulated his flesh, replacing his skin with fur and talons and his hand with a claw. He reached out with a snarl, his drumming heartbeat drowning out the sound of Jackal's laughter. His claw dug into the man's chest, ripping open his flesh as if it were nothing. He dug in further, cutting through the flesh, muscle, and bone before finding his target, and he grabbed it.

The man's heart.

He pulled.

Jackal screamed.

Blood dripped from both the wound and the organ, before Jackal slumped. The removed of a heart was a way of killing the undead. It would ensure that the body and soul were split apart again, and couldn't be returned. The rest of the soul's partial existence would be agony. An infinite hell preserved by the last flickers of consciousness.

Freed dropped the organ, letting it fall to the ground. He spun on his heel and allowed the body to slump and bruise in chains, not sparing the angel another glance.

After leaving the room, his boots clicked on the marble as he walked down a corridor. Either side was a stained-glass depiction of both Evergreen and Bickslow, decorations that hadn't been there before. The castle was trying to tell him something, apparently. Either a warning or a judgment on his morality. Freed spared them a glance but stormed through it without much care for his friend's depictions.

At the end of the corridor, he slammed the door shut. The corridor crumbled to nothing behind him, destroying the glass visages of his friends as it did. It was just wreckage in his wake.

* * *

_The hand with which Freed removed Jackal's heart was his right. The 'Knight of Judgement' art piece portrays his right hand as being overtaken by thorn like chains, showing the affect the darkness had on him. It acts as judgment for what he did, and when he allowed his cruelty to overtake him and taint his actions._

_After that day, Freed was changed. This art piece shows it._

_Although it is argued as to whether Freed's actions were justified or not, it is almost unanimous that this was the only time Freed acted solely out of blind rage and anger. This was the only time in the war where he lost himself entirely to his emotions._

_Also often disputed is why Freed had destroyed the corridor leading to the torture tower. Some claim he did so because he wished the block his path from the room off so that he could move on from what he had done and not repeat it. Others claim it was a clear objection to the judgment of Bickslow and Evergreen through their stained-glass visages. Either way, the corridor was one room that was never fixed after its destruction._

_Despite the fact Freed never acted out of blind anger again, his mind did not heal immediately. The following weeks, he secluded himself in his castle. No demons nor humans were allowed in. The doors were replaced by walls, the windows bricked up, and moat surrounding it filled with melted stones and magma. He had finalised his own prison._

_His self-destruction and seclusion continued for a while longer, the precise time is unknown. What is known is that the next time Freed would see any other creature is the return of his demons to the Netherworld, which is often where the story of the end of the war is said to begin._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

There was something wrong in the Netherworld.

It was the first thing that Bickslow and Evergreen noticed when they returned. There was a certain edge to the atmosphere that hadn't been present before. Whereas previously the Netherworld had been welcoming by design – death was jarring enough, why make the new environment hostile to the deceased – now it was darker and sharper almost. It was no longer the bustling city it had once been, but instead was a shell of itself, an endless expanse of buildings.

Two demons glanced at each other with concern. The people who should have populated the streets were nowhere to be seen, the ever-present sound of talking that came with humans had been lost, and the feeling of loneliness was practically palpable.

Their immediate concern was for their God.

As they flew through the streets, they could see the dead were in their homes. Some people were working the farms needed to keep food, but only the bare minimum. The Netherworld was a skeleton of what it once was, and everything the two demons saw were making them more worried for their friend. Freed had done whatever he could to make the place better than this, so to see what had happened in their absence was more than concerning.

"Maybe we should have stayed with him," Bickslow sighed. "At least one of us."

"There's no point in dwelling on that," Evergreen said, looking at the abandoned streets with a frown. "We should just get to him as soon as we can and try and help him."

"Guess we should."

The demons sped up their flight through the city, both wearing expressions of concern as they got nearer and nearer to the castle where their God resided. As the building became more than just a silhouette, they both looked at it with wide eyes.

Whereas previously it had been somewhat welcoming, it now stood both secluded and crumbling. The windows had been replaced by bricks, the moat had been expanded to the point where the castle was on its own island, and the drawbridge was lifted and bolted upright. The brickwork was cracked, and it was clear some of the more vulnerable pieces of stone had fallen to the ground below. Doors were removed and any form of entrance seemed blocked up or destroyed. It was entirely closed off, no doubt with Freed inside.

After flitting around the top of the castle in hopes of finding an entrance, their concern grew. Freed was secluding himself. Completely.

Of course, they couldn't allow this. Freed was a man more emotional than he would openly admit, and clearly the toll of the war was affecting him greatly. Worse, he was a powerful man, and it would be entirely possible that Freed's seclusion could lead to something more destructive. It would only take the wrong thing to happen before Freed's emotions contorted into anger, and he use it against his subjects.

It took a little while, but after flying around the walls of the castle, they managed to find a single unblocked door. It was at the back of the castle, and only allowed access to the private garden. The place where Freed and Laxus had met.

When they entered, they saw the state of disrepair was worse inside. Carpets were muddied, dusty and torn, curtains clumped on the floor having fallen form the walls, paintings were either destroyed or removed, light had been eradicated entirely and shards of brick and stone populated the ground. It was a wreck, and the fact that Freed seemed either unaware of it or simply didn't care sent a surge of fear through the demons.

The castle was a reflection of Freed. If he didn't care about the castle, he didn't care about his own wellbeing.

Guided by the light of Bickslow's glowing souls, they quietly navigated the silent castle. They checked Freed's chambers and the study that he preferred, but saw they were both unoccupied and equally as run down as the rest of the building. They then searched more of the rooms Freed could often be found in, before walking towards the throne room. They had hoped they wouldn't need to go there, that Freed would be elsewhere, but all signs pointed that this was where he was.

Freed was never in the throne room for a good reason. It was normally the source of his anger.

When they pushed open the door, they were greeted with the sight of their God. The room itself was more ruined than any other, with streams of light flitting in through the cracks in the walls, hitting Freed in various places. Every decoration was in tatters, burned away or non-existent. The only thing still in its former glory was the throne itself, and that made Evergreen and Bickslow look on in worry. Freed hated that throne, only used it when needed, and yet now it was the only thing he was bothering to keep immaculate.

Why he was doing that they didn't know, but it wasn't going to be for a good reason.

Freed himself looked different too. His face was emotionless, his right hand replaced with an obviously demonic claw, his clothing ripped and in the same state as the castle, and his right eye was pulsating in a dark purple glow.

"You've returned," He commented, looking at his demons enigmatically.

"What the hell happened here?" Bickslow demanded, looking around in almost disbelief.

"Progress," Freed shrugged, not moving from his throne. "I had something of a realisation. Call is an epiphany if you want to romanticise it."

"Okay," Evergreen said slowly, approaching Freed with something akin to caution. Freed raised an eyebrow at that. "And what did you realise."

"That humans brought this upon themselves," Freed said plainly. "They worship these Gods without care for the consequences. They build up their dammed egos to the point where they believe that their Gods can do no wrong, and the Gods believe them right back. They're complicit in their own destruction. They have a hunger for mistreatment, whether they're aware of it or not, and I have granted them their wish. I expect they're thrilled at what they've got."

"Freed, that ain't-" Bickslow began, but Evergreen put a hand on his arm to stop him. They needed the full story before they could help.

"Why did you let the castle get like this?" She asked.

"I didn't see the point in maintaining it," Freed stated, looking at his demons with almost curiosity. "Nobody but me is going to see it, and I don't particularly care for the frivolities of it all. Why waste the effort in making it look respectable if there's nobody to appreciate it?"

"And the moat?" Bickslow prompted.

"There were complaints about the way I was changing things, and people thought it wise to try and change my mind," Freed sighed, in annoyance most likely. "The moat acts as a deterrent. There's no way to approach me, and those who try will have their bodies boiled. It proved quite effective, after the first few attempts were unsuccessfully made."

"And why remove the windows?"

"Predominantly to further keep out anyone who wished to try their luck in speaking with me," Freed glanced at where a window had once been, then back to his demons. "And partly because the light seeping in was a bother. I can see without it; it was simply a functionality for the human's ease. Unneeded now."

The two demons shared a look. They had perhaps expected a blind rage from their God, but this calm, detached nature was a lot more concerning. It was as if all the emotion had been sapped out of him.

"What made you do this Freed?" Evergreen asked, stepping closer again. Bickslow did the same.

"I told you, I came to a greater understanding of the world," Freed shrugged. "Humans are addicted to pain and turmoil. They bring it upon themselves so it makes their short existences seem worthwhile; they force agony on themselves so that they can feel better when they get rid of it. I have been a crutch to them, and they haven't earned my help, so I have removed it from them. I have also removed their influence from me."

While Evergreen looked at their God with concern, Bickslow's eyes widened and he felt a rush of guilt wash over him. He had seen emotions of all type in humans, both repressed and volatile, and he knew what Freed was doing. He was a man of pride and duty, and he wouldn't allow his true feelings to be known to anyone. But it was plain to see that he was lonely.

Bickslow and Evergreen had left him alone when he was struggling. He was more alone than he had ever been, and he had closed himself off.

Perhaps he thought that emotions were the reason he was hurting so much on his own, and was trying to remove their influence from him. Perhaps he just wasn't thinking straight, and his self-inflicted seclusion from the world had led him to make stupid decisions. But it was very clear what was happening; Freed was angry and lonely and didn't know how to deal with it, so was lashing out at the world.

Walking up to Freed, he was met with an inquisitive eyebrow raise and nothing more. Before Freed could stop him, the demon wrapped his arms tightly around the man, pulling him into a tight hug.

Freed went rigid against Bickslow's chest and for a moment he was unmoving.

"I'm sorry we left you," Bickslow stated softly, and his voice quivered. "And I'm sorry you're having to go through all this shit with nobody to understand how hard it is for you. And I'm sorry that people constantly undermine you. I'm sorry we haven't been here for you and I promise we won't do that to you again. But we are here for you, and we love you."

A sob slipped through Freed's lips.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Bickslow, clinging to him as if he might disappear. Bickslow tightened his own grip, and allowed Freed to press his face into his torso for as long as he needed. He was probably crying, and most likely wouldn't end the hug until he stopped. That was fine, he could deal with that.

Evergreen had walked over and was gently stroking Freed's back, and the two demons shared a sympathetic look. They knew now that one of them should have stayed behind to look after him, they knew that Freed wasn't as in control as he liked to think and should have anticipated he might need help.

But like Evergreen had said earlier, they couldn't focus on that.

Eventually Freed did remove himself from the hug, and the dampness around his eyes told Bickslow that he had indeed cried. They didn't comment on anything as Freed rubbed the back of his left hand against his face, cleaning it slightly and making himself look more presentable. The glowing in his right eye diminished now, but the effect of his time alone was still obvious in both the castle and in his demonic right arm.

"I shouldn't need to rely on you," Freed whispered. "And I'm sorry that I do."

"Everyone needs people, Freed," Evergreen said softly. "And the people who think otherwise are the people who start wars and bring cruelty for no reason. You are not one of those people."

"But what I've done over the last-"

"Anything you've done can be fixed, Freed," Bickslow firmly stated, leaving no room for argument. "You're allowed mistakes, more than anyone. People can forgive you and move on, they're good at that."

Freed thought for a moment, before ducking his head in defeat. Evergreen patted his shoulder while Bickslow ruffled the top of his already messy head. Freed chuckled slightly at the action, though his heart was barely in it. The demons wished that they could do more to help their friend, but he could only heal himself. And, unfortunately, part of that healing process would involve the God's lover, something which Freed would soon find out about.

"We found Laxus," Evergreen said after Freed looked up again. The man's head snapped towards her. "And I'm going to need you to promise to keep calm."

"If he okay?" Freed demanded, regret replaced by a small mixture of fear and anger.

"He's alive," Bickslow said calmly, and the lack of affirmation of anything better made Freed tense. "A couple of weeks ago, he was captured by Ivan's forces. They're using him against Makarov, we're not exactly sure how, but they're managed to draw his lightning out of him against his will."

Freed's eyes went hollow as he thought back to what Jackal had said. If captured, they would use Laxus for as long as needed, before killing him.

"Are they hurting him?"

"Yes," Evergreen sighed, placing a hand on Freed in the hope of calming him. "We're not sure, but we think they're using some kind of torture to get him to use his lightning."

"We couldn't save him on our own, he's heavily guarded," Bickslow confessed, looking at the floor with an angered expression. "We did what we could, but we had to leave. We came here immediately because you needed to know. I'm sorry we couldn't save him."

"What exactly are they doing to him?" Freed said, standing up.

"They've got him in chains, and when we were there they were constantly beating him," Evergreen explained softly, watching as Freed moved. "There's these things, they look like crystals, which looked like they were coming from his back and his chest. Every time he was hit, and a spark of lighting came across him, the crystals picked it up and sent it into a metal structure. We think it's a weapon, a lightning canon of some kind."

"They're beating him," Freed echoed quietly. "They're torturing him."

Many things happened next.

The castle seemed to shift around them, stone cracking against stone, shards of glass and rubble lifting from the air and floating towards the walls, ruined tapestries and curtains reforming and returning to their previous places around the room. Light streamed into the room where the windows now reformed. The room was just as it once had been, in its perfected glory, and both demons felt the rumble of movement through the castle that told them the entire building was the same.

Freed himself changed too. Any signs of him being haggard or exhausted were removed, and replaced with perfection. He stood upright, tall, and proud. He was more regal and God-like in that moment than he had ever been.

Two sharp, curved horns twisted out of his head, parting his hair. His eye glowed bright as he looked back to his demons, an expression of barely restrained fury on his face. Air seemed to twist around him and darken, as if magically inclined to support his rage and passion. He was not just a God, at that moment. He was a warrior.

"I will speak to my people," Freed proclaimed, turning on his heal and started to move through his castle.

"And say what?" Evergreen asked, sprouting wings to keep up with him.

"To announce that we will no longer be passive in this war," Freed stated, motioning to the drawbridge which fell with a dramatic shutter, lava sloshing around it. "They have captured the man I love and are using his gifts to slaughter innocent people. His own father is responsible and will show no guilt nor compassion. This war has been happening for years and has twisted those who have been dragged into it. It is a blight on anyone who has seen it yet was born of the whim of two egotists. But it will continue no more."

"What are you gonna do?" Bickslow questioned as Freed walked out of his castle for the first time in months.

"I will bring hell to them," Freed proclaimed. "And anyone who dares try and stop me will do battle with the devil himself."

* * *

_The day the doors to the Netherworld opened was the day the war ended. The day Freed ended it._

_It was a momentous occasion, one which will forever be recognised in history. The day that the God of Death saw the war for the first time, and decided that he would end it. The day where the dead fought for the living. The day the leading Gods were shown for what they were; weak and uncaring to those below them._

_On that day, Freed became a fighter. The horns he grew symbolised that, both as a reflection of the helmets worn by warriors as well as a clear declaration of his strength. The God was a weapon, something dangerous and to be feared. He had no weaknesses, no vulnerabilities. He was something that could not be destroyed by lesser beings, not could be looked down upon. Freed was often assumed to be an incompetent leader of the Netherworld by other Gods, but in that moment he was more devilish than any God could hope to be._

_That day, everything Freed did struck fear into the hearts of Gods._

_The day the doors to the Netherworld opened was often feared. In prophecy it claimed to be the day the dead rose to overtake the living, angered by their treatment and mortality. Even Gods were taught to fear the opening of hell._

_And when it happened, a shiver went through the world._

_And even a God as twisted as Ivan Dreyar felt fear._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

Ivan was a bastard.

Laxus had always thought this, ever since he had realised just how much of his life had been manipulated by his father. The man was a cruel and vindictive person, doing whatever he wanted and hurting anyone he could just to get his own way. The only thing that he had ever thought of was the best way to achieve his own goals, all of which were only designed to increase his power and influence. He had never been a good person.

But now, he was more than just cruel. He was more than just a bastard. He was evil. There was no other term for what he was doing, no other way to describe him.

He had captured Laxus himself. He's set up a diversion, starting a battle on the land and murdering an entire town of humans just for the sake of it. Laxus had taken to the skies to stop the forces, but had apparently left himself open for attack, and Ivan had taken the chance. One of his angels had put Laxus to sleep, and the thunder God had awoken in his father's clutches.

When he had woken up, he was in chains. The room was small and filled with smoke, something of an engine room Laxus guessed. He didn't have time to dwell on that, as when he looked down to see a large, jagged blue crystal had been sewed into his skin. He had panicked instantly, lightning crackling across his skin. It flickered towards the crystal and was absorbed by it, skittering up a large metal column that he was wired up to. It wasn't hard to understand what was happening, this was some way for his father to steal his lighting and use it for whatever he pleased.

Bastard.

Over the next few days, Laxus had been forced to endure a lot. Ivan knew that his lightning was an instinctive thing, and that the easiest way to get it from him was to hurt him. Well, perhaps not the easiest, but Ivan didn't seem to care.

Beatings and threats came thick and fast, the intensity of them depending on how much lightning he needed. For one particularly large fight where the Lighting Dragon – the name he had given the weapon – was needed, Ivan had decided to take a knife to Laxus' face. No doubt a jagged scar would be there when Laxus next saw his reflection.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think much about anything that was happening, instead he was just focusing on trying not to show how his father was affecting him.

If nothing else, he would keep his damned dignity.

It was getting harder to do that, though.

Mostly, one of Ivan's angels had been beating Laxus, but Ivan himself sometimes did it. Today was one such day. The old man had rid himself of the metal armour he had constantly been wearing since the start of the war, and was holding something that Laxus had become all too familiar with. A two-pronged weapon that Ivan would have rested against an open flame. It was simple, vicious, and effective. So Ivan either wanted a lot of electricity today, or just wanted to hurt him.

"It really is a shame I have to do this," Ivan commented as he walked forward. "It would have been much easier if you had just followed logic and chosen to fight my side without objection. I wouldn't have had to kill you that way."

Laxus didn't speak. He wouldn't speak.

"Well, perhaps kill isn't the correct term," Ivan continued, gently running the sharp tool against Laxus' torso. "Because if I killed you, you'd go into the arms of that little harlot of yours. Rather, I'll force you into something akin to death."

Gritting his teeth, Laxus glared at his father. He didn't know how the man knew about his relationship with Freed, but it was now one of Ivan's favourite ways to torment him.

"I've a few ways in which I could do that," Ivan mused aloud. "There's burying you alive, of course. Drowning you then resuscitating you only to drown you again. I could do some experimentation on the ways in which a God can replenish their body after grievous injury. Or I could just keep you here and make an example out of you in case anybody had any thoughts about trying to usurp me. The possibilities are endless."

"Fuck yourself," Laxus growled, voice hoarse from lack of water.

"Oh, you're speaking today are you?" Ivan asked almost conversationally, pushing the prong against Laxus' new face scar. "What's got you so chatty?"

"You won't win," Laxus grunted.

"Oh I think that I will," Ivan chuckled, pushing the device further against Laxus' injury. "In fact, I think I'll win rather soon. My father is far too reliant on those angels of his. But I think by the end of the week, they'll be here with you. Think of it as a present, some company for you."

"He'll stop you."

"No. No I don't think he will," Ivan chuckled. "He's struggling already. It's why he hasn't tried to save you yet. Did you know that? There's not even been an attempt. Not even a single angel has been sent for you. Not one."

Laxus growled, and lightning flickered across his skin. The crystals hummed as they absorbed it, and Laxus winced at the fizzing sensation that he was forced to endure. Ivan laughed at the reaction, pushing the hot poker further against his sensitive skin. Laxus grit his teeth and did what he could to force back the shout of pain that was trying to fight its way out of him. His entire body was tensed up, but his father clearly saw the pain Laxus was in. He was almost revelling in it.

The sessions could last days. And with the sadistic glee that the man seemed to be taking in his pain told Laxus that today would be such a session.

He had a plethora of devices that he took delight in using. He had brought them all with him and looked through them, settling on one and raising it up.

Throughout his weeks in his father's clutches, Laxus had done whatever he could to distract himself from his pain. He focused on happier memories; those of his grandfather before he had started his war. His time in the underworld, laughing and relaxing with the Raijinshuu and his lover. It didn't stop Ivan's torture from hurting any more, but at least it was something of a distraction, as well as a comfort.

Even thinking about Freed was calming. Laxus could picture him perfectly. His sharp features, his long silky hair, his strong arms, his beautiful laughter, his ardent passion. Everything about him was perfect, and Laxus missed seeing him so damn much.

They should have spoken after Laxus had left for the war.

He might never see him again.

Shutting his eyes, he tried to let memories of his lover overtake him. The first time they had seen each other, in Freed's garden, where they had spoken about the difficulties of being a God that nobody seemed to talk about. The meals they shared together, where Freed was slowly introducing Laxus to more of the human's culture. Just lying in bed with him, side by side while relishing in the man's beauty. His everything.

He had such an overwhelming presence. When he walked into a room, Laxus could feel him there. Freed had once said that Laxus had an aura to him; something about humidity and a chill. Laxus thought Freed had one too; a level of coolness, like the feeling of running your hand through moss. There was also a smell of damp stone, which was slight and barely noticeable to anyone but Laxus.

It was almost like he could feel it now.

Then, after a moment, he realised he could feel it.

He opened his eyes to see that Ivan had stopped his torment, and was looking around with confusion. Laxus suddenly felt a familiar feeling of comfort overtaking him. The feeling he got whenever he had entered the Netherworld. It was like he was there, with Freed beside him. With his moss like coolness and his stone scent. It was as if the Netherworld was bleeding into the world of the land of the living.

Then, Laxus realised what was happening.

He couldn't help it. He laughed.

"What?" Ivan snapped, glaring at his bound son. "What is this?"

"You can feel it too," Laxus laughed again. "You wanna know what it is, huh? I don't think you'll like the answer."

"Tell me!" Ivan shouted, backhanding Laxus. The blonde kept laughing despite the hit.

"Guess you wouldn't recognise it, since you've not been down there. But that's what I feel like whenever I go down to the underworld," Laxus laughed at the look of panic that flicked onto Ivan's face. "And if we can both feel it all the way out here, I think you can guess what's happening."

"No," Ivan growled.

"The devil's coming out to claim the world," Laxus quoted from one of many prophesies about the Netherworld opening its doors. "I wonder how happy he'll be when he finds out what you've been doing to me."

Laxus continued laughing while Ivan slowly looked towards him, before flicking on his heel and walking out of Laxus' chamber. Laxus allowed his limbs to fall limp in his bounds, closing his eyes and allowing the sensation of Freed to overtake him. Even in the situation, with the residual pain from Ivan's attacks, this was the most comfortable he had felt in months.

Freed was coming. And, at least for Laxus, that meant hope.

* * *

_Often, this is where people being telling the story of how the war ends._

_The gates to the Netherworld open, the God of Darkness walks out of his domain and lays judgment on those who have caused slaughter. The suffering ends and the war is finished. In the retelling of the God's of Fiore, this is one of the most famous and important moments of history. This is reflected in poems, songs, artwork, and stories told about it._

_Again, the 'Knight of Judgement' reflects this._

_The dagger laden with an all-seeing eye is a reflection of the strength that he showed in these moments. It is often referred to as the Blade of Judgement. Both the way Freed saw the injustices in the world, and how he punished them. It encapsulates how, in that moment, he was both Judge, Jury and Executioner._

_A role which ended the war and gifted him the title 'God of Judgement'._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

The opening of the Netherworld was near apocalyptic.

From the depths of the ocean walked forward an endless army of corpses. They were all unkillable, without fear nor regret, and brandishing weapons that could kill angels and humans alike. Above them floated their souls, warping and swirling through the air as dark purple fire. The fire of a soul cannot touch a living creature, and thus acted further as weapons against the oncoming fight.

Waves sloshed and churned as the water was toyed with, the armada of bodies waling atop the surface. The boats of the already fighting fleets were taken on the whim of the seas, losing all control, and becoming useless. They creaked and moaned in protest, but the sound fell to nothing.

Instead, there was silence.

The shadow of the God of Death loomed over the entire battlefield. His size was monolithic, and he looked down upon the living with an expression of calm, quelling rage. He towered over both men and mountains alike, and the ferocious wind of battle hit him and flung back the endless green hair that seemed to merge with the cloak he wore. It plastered against the surface of the sea, and the Death God slowly walked forward, creating waves of tidal size with each movement.

The waves gained a purple sheen to them, both by the shade of the God and the aura he exuded. The sensation of death and the Netherworld was slowly tainting the land of the living.

In that moment, eclipsed by the sun behind him and looking on the living with a sneer, he was more of a God than he had ever been. And it seemed everyone who saw him wouldn't dare deny the fact, as they looked upon the man with fear.

With every step, the fighting stopped.

The Death God looked at the congregation before him. At Gods and angels and humans fighting a war that should have never happened. How they had been twisted by pointless agendas and how many of them had been turned to savages. How once good people now saw the removal of life as an everyday occurrence, or even pleasure, rather than the travesty that it was.

Life ending should not be seen as a possibility. It should not be seen as something required for the future. It should be seen as something that only nature and time should control. These Gods had removed fate's hand in death, and for that they must be punished.

"Stand before me, Gods," The Death God demanded, voice echoing through the ocean.

He waited a moment. Nobody came, it felt like nobody moved.

Lifting his hand, the Death God allowed swirls of magic to form around him. Runic lettering fluttered through the air, a language of the Gods often thought to be lost or dead, at his control. They shot off in two directions, hunting down the Gods responsible for the war. A moment later they returned to him, this time carrying two men in their grasps, who struggled against them. The bounds were tight around the ruling Gods, and the Death God looked to them with indignation.

The last time he had seen them in person was when he had stormed form their meeting. He had forgotten just how human they looked. How pathetic they looked. But they had caused such destruction and heartbreak, and all for nothing.

They were ants compared to him.

"Look upon your creation," Freed demanded, making a gesture which turned the two men around.

They were forced to look over the battlefield that they had made. A battlefield Freed had no doubt that neither man had stepped onto themselves. They saw the hordes of corpses Freed had at his disposal, the ocean of souls that had been ripped from their bodies because of the whims of the two men, the angels and Gods that would soon be dead as well, the blood that had stained both the hands of the fighters and the water itself.

"Do you deem your actions good?" He asked, voice loud enough for everyone fighting to hear.

"Not damn near enough," Ivan snarled struggling against the runes keeping him in place.

With a quick hand gesture, Ivan was flung forward. He was tiny in comparison to the Death God, and struggled under the intense gaze of the man who controlled him. He sent a defiant glare to the other man, who looked at him without pity nor fear. He showed no emotion at all.

"Repeat yourself," The Death God demanded.

"I said it ain't near enough," Ivan growled, and the runes tightened around him slightly. "This world needs to change, or it'll die, and I'm the man who's going to change it. And no corpse fucking Demi-God is going to stop me."

"Still with the same insult. You're a tiresome man, Ivan Dreyar," The Death God chuckled, but his face showed no humour.

"I will slaughter you like I have anyone who has gotten in my way," Ivan spat, wincing as the runic bounds got tighter still.

"Like you would your own son?" Makarov spoke up, voice gravely and a growl. "You're disgusting."

"You raised a deviant, old man," Ivan growled to his father. "How you can be proud of him is astonishing to me. You should have killed him at birth, for all the good he's done to either of us. I am proud I have done what is required of me, and once this imposition is dealt with I will finish my work and end his disrespect."

With closed eyes, the Death God sent another flurry of runes to find Laxus. It might take longer, Ivan no doubt kept him hidden, but they would find him.

"He is the only good thing you've done," Makarov continued. "And when I found out whatever you've done to him you will be beaten for each scratch you're responsible for; you can be sure of that."

"It's a shame that you will not live to see that opportunity," Ivan retorted.

"Silence!" The Death God yelled. "You are both unimportant, inconsequential in this war from this point on. Neither of you will make an order, demand, or bring further death. You are both to be silent. Unless you wish to fight me, your war is over."

"You couldn't begin to fight me," Ivan spat, looking to the Death God again.

"Yes, I could," The God snarled back, and Ivan flinched at the sudden emotion. "You, Ivan Dreyar, are nothing but a bug that I could crush beneath me. I have an infinite army of souls and corpses, all rotten by your manipulation. They feel rage and anger towards you that is unrivalled, and that fury will drive them to be more vicious and cruel than your most twisted of dreams.

"My soldiers are unkillable, and immovable. They cannot be reasons with nor can they be stopped. And with every life my soldiers take, we recruit another. And endless spiral of people who can and will put an end to your power, Mr Dreyar."

As the Death God spoke, the bounds around both Makarov and Ivan got tighter. The latter seemed to struggle with breathing now.

"I am more a God than you could ever wish to be, and I will do whatever is needed to end your tyranny on this land," The death God growled, lowing his gaze on the man with sadistic calm. "So help me I will bring rule on it myself if that is what's required of me."

And it would be easy, oh so easy to do it.

He could shape the world in his image, remove those who would cause harm and destruction onto it in the same way that Ivan had to him. He would remove the judgement and prejudices that had plagued his own life, and preach better ideals to his subjects. He could be both the king of the Netherworld and the living.

A flutter of runes suddenly appeared before him, and there stood Laxus.

The God was naked, revealing the extent of his injuries. Scars and bruises and cuts and burns populated his skin where previously there had been none. Marks that connoted restraints were still visible around his arms and legs, and his exhaustion told the Death God that Laxus had not slept nor rested since his capture. He looked more vulnerable than he had ever been, and something inside the God of Death's heart broke at the sight.

He couldn't be the ruler of the living.

Because wanting that might twist him into someone who could hurt another in the way Ivan had hurt Laxus.

All he could be was himself.

Freed made a motion with his hand, his body twisting to its normal size as he stepped through the air. He brought Laxus into his arms and grasped him tight, the two Gods holding one another as if their lives depended on it. They buried their faces into the other's neck, not speaking nor sobbing. But they both felt a rush of exhaustion, relief, and joy flood through them as they were brought together again.

Laxus shook in his arms slightly, and Freed made a quiet promise to him that he would do whatever he could to help the God. Laxus nodded into Freed's neck and pressed his lips against it, feeling a sense of safety that he hadn't in months. A sense of home.

"Fucking disgusting," Ivan rasped.

Pulling away, Freed removed his cloak and wrapped it around Laxus, who took in the warmth of the clothing readily. Freed looked towards the two elder Dreyar's with anger on his face again. Ivan had a sneer which he was trying to maintain despite losing his breath, and Makarov was looking at the display between Laxus and Freed with an expression of confusion and disbelief. Freed ignored it as best he could as he walked towards the two bound men.

"Ivan Dreyar," He began, walking to the struggling man first. Ivan stared directly at him in some ridiculous display of ego. "You are made of cruelty and nothing more. Your actions are done without repent nor regret. Your goals are selfish and the way you attempt to realise them are evil. You have shown no guilt nor understanding of what you have done. What do you say to this?"

"Fuck you," Ivan grunted, the bounds getting tighter and tighter.

"Very well," Freed sighed, raising his left hand. "You cannot be changed. You cannot be fixed. You cannot be trusted. Therefore, you will be killed."

"You can't kill a God," Ivan laughed, and Freed shook his head.

"No. _You_ can't kill a God," He took a step forward. "I can."

The runes around the God started to glow, burning into him. They spiralled around him, their lettering blurring into purple bands that tore into his skin. The sound of their humming could only do so much as to mute out his screaming as his flesh was torn open and scolded. The process was soon covered by a blurring purple halo of runes, which died away a moment later and left Ivan's body desecrated, cut apart and scolding. His soul started to rise from his body, but Freed ripped it open with a flick of his wrist, dismissing it entirely. He would get no afterlife, nor did he deserve one.

Freed turned slowly towards Makarov, who was looking on the body of his son with a look more disappointed than grieving. He looked towards Freed and his expression seemed to be one of acceptance. At least he had some morality left.

"Makarov Dreyar," Freed continued. "In this war, you chose to fight for the freedom of the people you govern. But by doing so, you forgot the value of life. It became unimportant, and people just tools for your victory. Furthermore, you dragged other Gods into this fight and infected them with your violent mindset. You were both complicit and responsible for the deaths of many, and you will be punished accordingly."

"I understand," Makarov hung his head.

"Wait," Laxus said, voice slightly hoarse. "You don't need t'–"

"Let me finish," Freed put a gentle hand up to quell his lover, still looking at Makarov. "This world needs a ruler, and you were once a good one. Throughout the war you have been changed from who you once were, and you need to become that man again. You must relearn the value of a human life, and how important kindness and respect are. Furthermore, you must learn that you are not above the humans, rather their servant and protector. Do you agree?"

"I do."

"Then your punishment will be this," Freed continued. "You will walk this land, and see every inch of it. You will see every human that walks upon it. You will see heartbreak and joy and birth and death and understand it as every human does. No living creature will see you, and you will walk alone. You will use this time to reflect on your actions, and how better you will serve these people. Once you have seen every corner of the land, we will meet again, and I will determine if you're ready to rule. In the time before that happens, your grandson will take the place as Leader of the Gods temporarily, and I will act as his advisor."

Makarov nodded with his head bowed. He seemed to understand that this was a kindness. A mercy. Nothing more.

"Before you leave, I'm sure that your grandson will wish to speak with you. Take the opportunity while you still have it."

He released the runes that were holding Makarov in place, and the two Dreyar's walked through the air and towards one another. Freed watched as they pulled each other into their arms and hugged, Makarov whispering what Freed could only assume was an apology. Laxus seemed to have forgiven him, so long as he accepted what Freed was suggesting was the right thing to do. When Makarov assured him that he would come back a better man, Freed felt a sense of relief. He had mainly offered Makarov the chance at redemption for Laxus' sake.

After the two men had said their goodbyes, Freed made a gesture with his hand and the older God was swirled in runes, taken somewhere on the land that hadn't been completely destroyed by the war, so his punishment could begin.

Laxus and Freed walked towards each other, and rested their foreheads together. They stood in silence for a moment, relishing in each other's presence in such a way that they hadn't been able to do for months. To be together again, in one another's arms, was such a strong relief neither had expected, but both needed so damn much. Neither man was willing to let go, and Freed slowly leant up and pressed his lips against Laxus', uncaring of who saw it.

Kissing his lover was euphoria.

Evergreen and Bickslow, who had watched Freed's proclamations from the side-lines, slowly flew towards both men. When they broke their kiss and pulled the other close, both demons were dragged into the embrace with them. Freed felt tears prickle at his eyes because of it.

The three people he loved more than anything were here with him again. At his side.

"I love you all," He whispered into someone's head. "So much."

They stayed in each other's arms for a time, before eventually pulling apart and looking at the battlefield before them. The fighting had stopped – it felt like the world itself had stopped – and everyone was looking at them. Looking at Freed in particular.

He took a step forward from his loved ones, and made the proclamation to everyone involved in the fight.

The war, finally, was over.

* * *

_It was in those moments that Freed gained the title of the God of Judgment. Where he looked at the actions of the two Gods and sentenced them for their crimes. He looked into their souls and saw darkness in one, and potential for good in the other. He used this judgment to change the course of history for the better, and for that the world should be thankful._

_His judgment did not end there. In the ensuing days he had every major fighter of the war take council with him, from both sides of the fight. He judged them both on their ability to be good and the possibility for reformation. He devised punishments suited for them all._

_Thus, he became the God of Judgement. This is reflected in the 'Knight of Judgment' art piece by the reflection of the scales of justice. The two skulls represent the value someone puts on a life, something pivotal for Freed's own judgment._

_This is where some might end the story._

_However, this is not an appropriate stopping point for the life of Freed Justine. As established, his actions were heavily influenced by those he loved. It is, in my view, important to explore how these relationships evolved and changed after he had ended the war. Thus, the story continues and ends more happier than some historians may tell you._

_**Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods** _

* * *

"At last, you're here!"

At Evergreen's exclamation, Freed chuckled. He walked into the garden of his castle, where a small table had been set up on the patio beside the pond. Both of his demons were already sitting there, and most likely had been waiting for a little while for both him and his lover to leave the castle to meet with them.

They did this once a week. They put aside an afternoon to meet up, talk, and share a drink.

Freed had been the one to suggest it. His time alone in the castle had made him realise a lot of things, and one was just how important his loved ones were. His castle was large, and felt larger when he was alone. He had relied on their support more often that he would have previously admitted, and wanted to treat them better than he had in the past. This was his solution.

There were rules for the meetings. No talking about their various duties. They couldn't bring a bad attitude with them. They had to try something new from human culture each time.

The reason both Freed and Laxus were late was, as the God's in charge of a post-war earth, they always had a lot of work to do. Today was no exception; they had spoken to two of Makarov's high-ranking angels about what they had done during the war and what they should do next to become better. It had taken longer than they had expected, but thankfully for no other reason than one of the angel's had arrived late. Laxus and Freed had done their job and walked from the throne room to the garden quickly, side by side.

"Apologies for the lateness," Freed spoke. "Apparently timekeeping isn't something Mr Fullbuster excels at."

"You know the rules. No work talk," Bickslow chastised, though he grinned.

"Yeah Freed," Laxus chuckled into Freed's ear. "You know the rules."

Freed shook his head, half tempted to point out their short walk to the patio had been dominated by Laxus muttering about the angel in question not arriving on time. Instead, he took his seat close to the pond and absent flicked his eyes over the table. It had been Bickslow's job to decide what part of living culture they would be exploring today, and he usually went for something that could be eaten. Today was no different.

Seemingly picking up on Freed curiosity, Bickslow handed him an empty glass and plate. He poured fresh lemonade into the glass from a pitcher, and then cut a slice of chocolate cake and placed it on the plate. Freed quirked an eyebrow at the cake.

"We're meant to try something new, with the intention of expanding our knowledge of their culture," Freed commented. "The last three times you've been in charge, we've had cake."

"Different recipes," Bickslow grinned. "And if you say it doesn't count, then you're disregarding the time and effort put into this recipe in particular. Which is a real dick mood if you ask me."

"You really are intolerable sometimes, aren't you," Freed chuckled, shaking his head.

After that, they fell into the normal routine of these meetings. They talked, joked, teased fun at each other and enjoyed an afternoon without responsibility. It was a welcome break for them all, and each of them were glad when Freed had proposed they do it. Particularly Evergreen and Bickslow, who had been taking on the slack that Freed's occasional absences had left in the Netherworld.

Although there was no setting sun in Freed's realm, it was clear that the evening was turning to night by the gradual quieting of the world outside the castle. People were returning to their homes to sleep, as their bodies demanded.

Returning the netherworld to its old state had been a large undertaking after the war had ended. First, Freed had been forced to merge the souls back together with their bodies after they had been split for his army, which had taken weeks of literal endless work. Then he had to get back to bringing the culture of the Netherworld to its lively state. The first thing he had done was to make a general apology to everyone for his angered and dismissive behaviour as of late. He then made personal apologies to those in particular he had wronged.

He did so reluctantly to the woman who complained about her neighbour stealing her food.

It was slow and somewhat arduous, but it was working. Slowly he was regaining their respect and improving the Netherworld from what it had once been. There were now more decorations lining the streets, as well as more placed to gather and be social. The open-air marketplace and cafés were particularly popular, and had been very helpful in making the Netherworld feel more human. They had been Laxus' idea.

"Okay," Laxus said, stretching his arms as he stood up. "It's getting late, and we all know that if we don't leave soon Bix'll start teasing Ever about the big guy she likes, and I don't wanna pull them apart again. So I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"I do not like him," Evergreen exclaimed.

"And teasing her about him is my favourite part of the evening!" Bickslow whined.

"Well, perhaps we'll allow you to do it when you don't decide to get us a chocolate cake for us to eat again," Freed said with a smirk, and Bickslow pouted at him. "I think I might be done for the night too."

The Death God stood up also, and moved beside Laxus. The Thunder God grinned and wrapped an arm around his lover, giving a curt wave to Freed's demons after they bid the two Gods farewell. Freed also wished them both a pleasant night as a pure white cloud appeared above the perfect garden, a stream of lighting slamming down and hitting them both, absorbing them inside of it and transporting them to Laxus' own home.

A moment later, they walked through to Laxus' bedroom. The entire place was open and airy, modelled after the architecture of the buildings from the Greek islands. It was a pleasant place, and Freed wouldn't deny he enjoyed the view from above the clouds.

Glancing down, Freed's eyes landed on a large map of the earth placed upon a plinth. It was partly coloured black, signifying where Makarov had walked as part of his punishment. He was making his way across the land, slowly but certainly. When he caught him looking at it, Laxus wrapped an arm around Freed's waist from behind.

"How long d'you think it'll take?" The Thunder God asked.

"About a year, at this rate," Freed said, turning in Laxus' arms and resting against his lover. "Do you miss him?"

"A bit, but he's gonna be better for doing it," Laxus shrugged.

"I hope so," Freed smiled, leaning up and placing his lips against Laxus' in a chaste kiss.

Both smiling with expressions bordering on lovesick, they pulled apart, slid out of their outfits, and climbed into the sun-warmed sheets of Laxus' bed. Laxus pulled Freed into his arms softly, pressing their lips together in another soft kiss before they both closed their eyes. Freed shifted closer to him, letting out a quiet yawn and allowed sleep to overtake him.

And, in the arms of his lover, filled with the warm love of his friends, the God of Death and Judgement found rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, the art was made by: [@FairiesHereFairiesThere.](https://fairiesherefairiesthere.tumblr.com/) Reblog the post [from here.](https://fairiesherefairiesthere.tumblr.com/post/628404053629665280/hi-hello-a-guess-whos-participating-in)


End file.
